The Name of the Rose
by Jormund Elver
Summary: Rose Weasley has more to contend with than just bearing a famous name and being her mother's daughter when her father disappears and a new threat to the wizarding world emerges that even her Uncle Harry cannot contend with.
1. Voices

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't have to work for a living. Since I do, therefore I must not own Harry Potter. Q.E.D.

**Chapter 1**

**Voices**

Rose Weasley normally liked Hogsmeade trips.

"Normally" being the operative word here, because today she was finding herself – to put it briefly – bored to death.

Rose was not the sort of girl who had a lot of friends. She had the sort of easy-going personality that meant she rarely rubbed anyone the wrong way, but apart from her cousin Albus Potter, Martin Lovegood and Elk Moose, she didn't think there was anyone at Hogwarts she was particularly close to.

And all the three boys had ditched her today. Albus had managed to get himself a detention with Professor Flitwick. Martin Lovegood was down with a cold (for the fifth time that year) and Elk Moose, who was trying out for the Hogwarts Wizard Chess team, insisted he needed to practise his game against Nearly-headless Nick, the all-England Ghost Champion.

She kicked moodily at a Butterbeer cork that was lying on the road and pulled her cloak tighter around herself as she made her way from the Hogsmeade branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes (where she had dropped by to say hello to her Uncle George) towards the Shrieking Shack. It was a quiet road – few people voluntarily went in the direction of the Shack even in these peaceful times – and that suited her frame of mind rather well.

She scowled as a group of Hogwarts students – third year, she guessed – passed her going in the opposite direction. She did not know them, but Rose was used to scowling at people on principle.

She walked on, with no particular idea of where she wanted to go, which she thought faintly ironic because she had no particular idea where she wanted to go in her life as well. She sighed as a gust of winter wind blew open her cloak again, and pulled it closer around herself, wondering why she even bothered going to Hogsmeade in the first place. Even if she thought about it, she never came up with a better answer than _Because I can. _She had the permission slip to go to Hogsmeade, so she went. At least it gave her some respite from the chattering first and second years who took over the common room with the older students out of the way.

Her Aunt Ginny had told her she 'brooded' too much, and Rose thought she might be right about that. She did tend to think too much about everything, except her studies, which meant she languished pretty much near the bottom of every class. That made life even harder, somehow. All the teachers had been ecstatic to see her when she had first made it to Hogwarts, close on five years earlier. She remembered the day well. Travelling in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express with the Potter brothers, being ferried to the castle in boats over the Great Lake and taken to the Entrance Hall. Then the sorting – the Sorting Hat had put her in Gryffindor almost instantaneously (as her father had predicted it would) and she had walked over to the first table on the left to loud cheering, where she joined the Potters and various Weasley cousins.

_That was pretty much the high point of my school career, _thought Rose grimly as she took a path that forked off from the road towards a little copse where she liked to sit and do her sketches. Rose was quite a gifted artist, drawing praise from Professor Longbottom (or 'Uncle Neville' as she always thought of him) who had compared her sketches favourably with the ones his friend Dean Thomas, now one of the most famous portrait artists in Europe used to do at her age. True, it seemed to be the only thing she _was _gifted at, which was the beginning of her trouble. For, as she found out in her first week at Hogwarts, she was not just Rose Weasley. She was Hermione Granger's daughter, and that took some living up to.

Her mother was the most amazing woman Rose had ever known. She was also the most intimidating. Passionate, brilliant and ambitious, Hermione Granger-Weasley was already the youngest member of the Wizengamot, headed the Department for Co-operation with Magical Creatures and was seen as someone who would go on to even greater deeds. _Which is all very well, _groaned Rose to herself as she found a tree-stump where she deposited a few pencils and rolled-up pieces of parchments, _except that everyone expects me to be her clone. And I'm not – I'm not Hermione Granger-Weasley._

Every teacher expected her to top their class "just like your mother used to". They had all unfailingly said as much in the first class she had of each subject, and she had, just as unfailingly, managed to disappoint them. _I suppose I do all right in Herbology and Care of magical creatures, _thought Rose, unrolling a sketch she had made the previous week. She gazed at it speculatively for a moment. It was a sketch of a snowball fight that she had witnessed from the window of her dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. She made a few minor changes, wielding her pencil with the delicacy of a paintbrush. A few stray strands of brown hair fell over her forehead, which she brushed away. _Completely uncontrollable hair had to be the one thing I inherited from her, _she thought irritably. She looked more like her muggle Grandma Jane than either of her parents, and was grateful for that, at least. Grandma Jane had been rather good-looking in her youth and even now was a handsome woman. Rose knew that her mother and grandmother did not get along as well as they should, but that had never affected the relations between her and the sprightly old woman.

Rose glanced up. She thought she heard voices – and not being the sort of person who generally heard voices in her head, she concluded that there were people around. She pushed herself to her feet and started putting away her pencils. She hated people seeing her work before it was finished. _Who the hell could it be? I thought I was the only person who came to this place._

She was just about finished putting her parchments back into her cloak when she realised the voices were growing fainter, not louder. So someone was going past the copse, outside the village, towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Idle curiosity drove her to walk towards the sounds, wondering who it was going towards the Forest on this cold January evening. She had only walked a few minutes when she saw two figures ahead of her, one man and one woman, both dressed in warm woollen coats and fur caps. The man definitely looked familiar which made her follow at a safe distance, though the snow on the ground meant that her footsteps were muffled enough to prevent her from being heard.

"Yes, it has been a while, hasn't it," she heard the man say. She allowed herself a little gasp – she knew that voice only too well.

_What's Uncle Neville doing here!_

The duo walked slowly, making their way around the small birch trees that formed the periphery of the Forest. Though she couldn't make out who was accompanying the Professor, she guessed it was a woman from the slim figure and the flashes of silky black hair that were visible under the thick cap.

Her curiosity, a powerful beast at the best of times, was piqued. Uncle Neville's wife Hannah, she knew fully well, was a blonde. So what was he doing walking around in the snow with a strange black-haired woman?

"So it has…I don't think I've seen you or Harry or anyone from the D.A. in more than three years now," said Neville's companion, her voice confirming Rose's suspicion that she was a woman.

"Well, it's been a peaceful few years -" shrugged Neville, " - which is all the better for the world in general."

"So what's changed now?"

"I could tell you what I know, but it isn't much. Better to wait until we reach the meeting point."

"And who are we meeting exactly?"

"You'll find out," said Neville in an amused voice.

"You're not going to tell me no matter what I say, are you?" said the woman.

"No, I'm not, but trust me, it will be worth it."

They walked on a while longer in silence, Rose still following behind. Years of sneaking around the school corridors at night had taught her the art of moving without being heard. Of course, their nightly excursions usually ended with Elk erupting into an enormous sneeze which meant they had to scurry for the closest means of cover while Filch and Mrs. Norris marched up and down the hallways looking for the perpetrators of the villainy.

"So how's things at the school then, Neville? Harry and Hermione's kids must be at Hogwarts now, mustn't they?"

"Them and everyone else's," agreed Neville. "Except people like us, of course."

"At least you ARE married," said the woman with a light, musical laugh, "and not a basket case like me!"

"Oh come on, Parvati, you're anything but a basket case. You just chose a different lifestyle."

"We've been thinking of adopting though," said Parvati, in a more serious tone, "so that's something to look forward to. Probably after I retire from the ramp."

They continued to walk for a few minutes until they arrived at a small hillock. She had been too engrossed to notice where they were going, but as the pair ahead of her began climbing towards what looked like the opening to a cave, she realised that she was not far from the legendary cave where Sirius Black, at the time a notorious fugitive had hidden while her Uncle Harry had been a student at Hogwarts.


	2. Intrusions

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, I would not have to work for a living. I do have to work for a living, therefore I do not own Harry Potter. Q.E.D.

**Chapter 2**

**Intrusions**

Rose stopped where she was, looking at the pair begin the easy climb up the hill. The tree cover was behind her; she could not follow them further without coming out into the open and being seen. The snowfall had almost covered the mouth of the cave as well, with only a tiny brown ledge marking the entrance. They were surrounded by trees on all sides, which meant this was a fairly isolated place. Rose backed behind a large pine, cursing softly to herself as she realised that Neville and his companion were now out of earshot. She did not have any illusions about being able to cast an invisibility charm on herself. _If only I had that invisibility cloak that James keeps flaunting about and flouting rules with, _she thought, _that would be just what the doctor ordered!_

The woman, Parvati, had now taken off her cap and Rose caught sight of her face as she laughed at some remark that Neville had passed. Rose thought she looked vaguely familiar, but couldn't place her exactly. _Probably visited our home sometime, _she figured.

The duo continued towards the cave, soon reaching almost to the entrance where they stopped and looked around. Rose looked on, wondering what they were about, when the silence around her was shattered by a loud _CRACK._ She had heard it often enough to know someone had apparated and darted backwards into the trees, hoping the person had not appeared too close to her. A series of similar sounds followed, leading Rose to take to her heels in fright. She kept running until she was sure she was too far to be easily seen and then dived behind a small elevation. At least half-a-dozen people had joined Neville and Parvati – she couldn't see them clearly, but the flash of red hair was definitely her Aunt Ginny – no one else she knew had quite that shade of hair! _The man accompanying her must be Uncle Harry, _she reasoned._ What are they doing here?_

Then she caught a glimpse of what looked like a very loud tablecloth in shades of orange and yellow and couldn't help emitting a small groan.

"Dad!" she muttered. No one else she knew had such an astoundingly terrible taste in clothes, except perhaps her grandfather Arthur on those all-too-frequent occasions when he chose to wear Muggle clothing.

Her mind was flying at a furious pace. _What are they doing here? They must all be here, the old gang of Dad and Mom and Uncle Harry. No doubt the others included the usual suspects from all those years ago. Mrs. Katie Strang, Mr. and Mrs. Jordan from the radio show– and that girl with Uncle Neville must be Parvati Patil, Mom's old friend who became a model._

She began to edge further backwards as more figures apparated in the clearing. It wasn't as though she felt she was doing anything _wrong_, but somehow Rose didn't feel like being 'found' eavesdropping – or even peeking – at a gathering that included her mother. In fact she decidedly had a strong dislike to being found so far from Hogwarts even on a Hogsmeade weekend. She was rather too close to the edges of the Forbidden Forest and given her mother's outlook on rule-breaking, Rose had no intention of being spotted there. _Which is rather hypocritical_, she thought, _when you consider how many she must've broken in her time._

She was too far and moreover, at the lower end of a gradient, which meant she could no longer even see the gathering. There seemed to be no way to know what was going on unless she got closer and this she had no intention of doing. Rose shook her head dejectedly and turned to walk back towards the village when her eye caught sight of the unmistakable sight of a broomstick above her. She quickly dived near the roots of a nearby tree, hoping to be concealed. The ruse seemed to work, because the rider continued on his or her course without a break.

_Probably one of them who still hasn't quite got the hang of apparation, _she reasoned, and stepped cautiously back into the open. To her surprise, the flier had stopped well short of the cave. She could see her – it was evidently a 'her' – silhouette quite clearly as she dismounted the broomstick and shook some flakes of ice off her robes. She was of about medium height, with long black hair. Rose retreated cautiously behind the tree and peered out. Then something happened that made her drop her jaw in alarm. The woman who had landed changed before Rose's very eyes into the splitting image of her Uncle George!

_What the hell is going on here! Polyjuice? No, I didn't see her drink anything. Or is Uncle George disguising himself as a woman? No, that's ridiculous, besides he can apparate perfectly well. This woman is an imposter. Is she a metamorphagus like Teddy Lupin? No, they can't change their ruddy gender like that!_

Rose stamped her foot in frustration as the woman passed over the edge of the slope and out of sight. For a moment she considered running on ahead and trying to warn her family by shouting, but dismissed the thought. _I'd have to run past that woman, and if she is dangerous, which I'm pretty sure she must be, she'd AK me without a second thought before I could get a word out of my mouth. She's here to spy on...damn it, of course! D.A! Parvati said she hadn't met anyone from the D.A. in over 3 years. That stands for Dumbledore's Army – Mom and Dad and Uncle Harry started it back when they were in Hogwarts and fighting Lord Voldemort. _Rose knew that after Voldemort's defeat the D.A. had officially disbanded, but there were rumours that they still met and acted as an unofficial safekeeping force. Rumours strong enough to lead to her being asked, several times, by her schoolmates whether those legends of the Battle of Hogwarts still assembled at her home. Rose always answered in the negative, but she had never been quite sure. Until now, that is.

Rose looked around, a sense of desperation creeping over her. Then her eye fell upon the branches of the tree behind which she was hiding. It had been years since she had tried anything of the sort, but she figured one never quite forgot how to climb a tree. If she could get high enough, she might at least be able to see what was going on, even if she couldn't hear any of it.

Without thinking too much about it, she slipped out of her jacket, dropping it at the foot of the tree. Finding a foothold was the work of a moment – Rose was about fifteen feet up the tree in a matter of seconds. She could see the group well enough now. The imposter George Weasley had joined the rest and seemed to be exchanging pleasantries with them. She could make out nearly fifteen different figures. She craned her neck forward, trying to get a better glimpse – and then, to her great disappointment, Rose saw the figures disappear as, one by one, they entered the cave – first her father, taking his monstrous coat with him, then her mother with her busy gait, then the ever graceful Aunt Ginny closely followed by the measured step of Uncle Harry. _Damn, damn, damn! What's the point of scratching my hands and scraping my knees to get all the way up here if they are going to -_

"I say, Weasley, trying to get back to your simian roots?"

The clear voice broke into her consciousness like the sound of shattering glass. The startled girl lost her grip and then her balance, falling freely onto the soft snow beneath. She raised herself to her knees with some difficulty, relieved to find nothing seemed to be much hurt and looked up to stare into a familiar pair of steel grey eyes.

"Malfoy!" she said in a muffled growl. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I...err." For a moment the boy seemed to be facing an internal struggle. Then, he spoke as one who has just made up his mind about something. "I was following you."

"And why, in the name of all that's rotten, were you following me, you...you stalker!"

"It's not like that!" Scorpius Malfoy said hastily, "I was hanging around outside Weasleys' shop you know, thinking of this and that when I saw you coming out. So, well, I remembered I had something to give you so I followed but you were going too fast for me to catch up..."

"Give me what? Not a rose I hope – like you tried last year on Valentine's Day?"

"What? No! You made it pretty clear you didn't want me to get upto 'any of that nonsense' as you put it."

"And why didn't you just call out instead of following me? Would've saved you a lot of time."

"I didn't want to draw attention, Rose! I just wanted to give you your cousin James' invisibility cloak!"

"What are you doing with it?"

"He dropped it in the Astronomy tower last night," said the boy resentfully, "I happened to pick it up, that's all. Oh, and before you ask me why I don't return to him directly, you know that neither of the Potter brothers would let me come within twenty feet of them without hexing me from here to Newcastle."

"You do have a point there," said Rose, sympathetically. "Well, hand it over!"

Scorpius reached into his satchel and pulled out the shimmering fabric.

"Quid pro quo, Weasley...I want something in return."

"Don't be an ass, Malfoy. I'm not going to kiss you," said Rose, impatient and irritated by now. _How long will this idiot dilly-dally? I need that cloak now! Who knows what will have happened back there by now._

"I never said that's what I wanted, Weasley! Just a...date? Maybe?"

"Don't be ridiculous either. Hand it over and go away."

"Rose!" he said in a pleading tone, but he pushed the cloak towards her.

"No."

"What about tea with my cousin Estelle Greengrass? I can be the uninvited guest."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Malfoy!" an exasperated Rose exclaimed, "Fine, I'll invite Estelle to join Martin, Elk and me for tea by the lake tomorrow. But don't hold me responsible of Albus shows up."

"Deal!" said Scorpius, his face lighting up and relinquished his grip on the cloak.

Rose grabbed it from him, picked up her own coat and took off towards the cave.


	3. Revelations

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, I would not have to work for a living. I do have to work for a living, therefore I do not own Harry Potter. Q.E.D.

**Chapter 3**

**Revelations**

_The thing with Malfoy, _Rose found herself thinking even as she feverishly pulled on first her coat and then James' invisibility cloak, _is not that I dislike him so much as the fact that he's so irritating. Albus or James would reason it's hereditary but I don't know...he was really quite all right until that Valentine's Day incident last year – and why I am thinking about him when I should be concentrating on what I'm going to do now is something I can't figure out either._

She had reached the cave – there was no one left outside, so she guessed everyone had entered, including the false George. _Must remember to check on the real Uncle George when this is over – no wait...he might be in real danger – what if this woman has harmed him seriously to make sure he couldn't make it here? _She looked back, wondering which way to go. If she went to look for George and something happened inside, she knew she'd feel she might have been able to do something for them - on the other hand if she didn't go and something _had _happened to her uncle, she'd never be able to forgive herself.

Rose pursed her lips. She wasn't sure it was the right decision, but it felt like the best one in the circumstances. She pulled out her wand from its holder in her coat and fired a flare in the direction in which Scorpius had gone, followed by two more. Sure enough, in a few minutes the blond boy was standing before her and looking around, bemused. Rose slipped the invisibility cloak off her head just enough to show her face.

"Over here!"

"Bloody hell, Weasley, you scared me!" Scorpius exclaimed with a start.

"Don't talk - I need a favour. Can I trust you, Malfoy?"

"I don't know – can you?" He sounded offended.

"I don't know either, but I don't have a choice. I want you to run to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes as fast as you possibly can. I think my Uncle George might be hurt – or worse. If he is, please send for help."

"I...sure...what's going on, Rose?" .e asked, in a serious tone.

"I can't explain now, Malfoy, just go - run!" she whispered urgently, and then slapped her forehead with her fist. "I'm an ass!"

"Not compared to the rest of your family," Scorpius couldn't resist saying.

Rose didn't bother to respond – she pointed her wand past him and said, "_Accio_ broomstick!"

The broomstick that the imposter had ridden flew from its hiding place and sped towards them. Scorpius held out a hand and caught it expertly.

"Wait for me in the village," she said, before pulling the cloak over her head again.

"I'll call that a date, Rose," said Scorpius, climbing onto the broomstick, "even if you don't!"

Rose thankfully hadn't heard the last remark. She ducked into the cave, wondering whether it was large enough to fit in the fifteen or so people she had seen gathered outside. As it turned out, it wasn't. In fact it didn't have anyone in it at the moment. _Where the hell have they gotten to! _Rose wondered, _People don't disappear into thin air like that, not even if they are the D.A._ She walked around the cave, treading carefully. There were rats and other debris strewn around the floor, which she was careful to step around. It was as she reached the leftmost corner that she found what she was looking for – a well-concealed trapdoor. In fact, it would not even have been visible to most people, but she and her friends had not spent a considerable amount of their time exploring Hogwarts Castle for exactly similar entrances to secret passageways without picking up the knack to locate them.

Not every trapdoor opens in quite the same way – Rose knew that well. Thankfully, she had picked up a nifty little spell from a book she had found at home for just this sort of situation. "_Nokaeteb Noxos"_ she whispered, pointing her wand at the metallic hinge that jutted ever-so-slightly out of the stone surface. The wall around the hinge glowed briefly, showing the outline of a door, then the outline moved slowly to the right.

_So it's a sliding door. Now how can a girl get in without the folks inside noticing. Even an invisibility cloak can't get me through without the movement of the door being pretty obvious. I'm sure Mom would have a spell for this situation too. Probably could turn the stone into Jell-o or something and slip through unnoticed. _However, as was generally informed to her twice a week in school, she was not her mother. Rose stepped gingerly around the door. The magical outlines had now disappeared. She tried to press against the door to check if she could hear anything, but as might have been expected, the door had been soundproofed from within.

_No way in. So much for all my efforts! _she muttered, _unless..._

Thinking almost too fast to quite comprehend what she was doing, Rose quickly drew her wand and pointed it towards the ceiling of the cave. _"Lumos," _she said in a quiet tone, briefly lighting up the cave before she muttered the counter-spell. _Just as I'd hoped – icicles!_

As the cave darkened again, Rose pointed her wand straight towards the largest growth of icicles – a bunch about four feet in length not far from the hidden door that hung down like stalactites from the ceiling. Mustering up all her concentration, she said, as loudly as she dared, _"Sectumsempra."_

She allowed herself a small smile as she felt the powerful spell course through her arm and flow straight towards the cave's ceiling. She held the spell for not more than a few seconds, but it was enough. She could hear the crack of the cutting spell spread through the ice formation and shrunk into herself as she watched it crash to the floor below. She had wanted a distraction, and she had got it. The sound reverberated through the cave for what felt like several minutes. In fact, Rose wouldn't have been surprised if it had been heard in Hogsmeade and neighbouring villages. When she finally took her hands off her ears, she was duly rewarded by the sound of creaking hinges.

Rose positioned herself flat against the wall near the gap that was opening up where the door had been. Her father came out first, in a blaze of colour followed by Uncle Harry and Neville. All three had their wands drawn.

"Don't see anything, mate," said Ron.

"Over there, on the floor," said Harry.

They walked past Rose towards the splinters of ice. Seizing her opportunity, she slipped her petite frame past the door unnoticed. There was a small passage, hardly six feet long which led to a rudimentary arch carved into the stone. Rose stepped through the arch and found herself in a large room, well-lit by floating torches similar to the floating candles in the Great Hall back at Hogwarts. The room was longer than it was wide, with a long table at the centre. It wasn't a round table, thankfully – for a moment, Rose wondered whether her family had been trying to emulate King Arthur – in fact it was like a modern conference table. As would be expected, the members of the D.A. were seated around it, all evidently in a state of alertness. _That noise I made outside must've really got them thinking, _she thought. Rose stealthily made her way closer to the table, careful to tread lightly. The room was made of mostly roughly hewn rock and there were a few dark niches here and there. She made straight for the one furtherest from her mother. She had no reason to believe that Hermione Granger included seeing through invisibility cloaks among her many abilities, but there was no point taking chances. Rose crept into a corner just behind a short blonde woman whom she instantly recognised as her friend Martin's mother, Luna.

The room continued quiet for a while, until Harry, Ron and Neville returned.

"Just some icicles that fell outside," said Harry with a shrug.

"Icicles?" asked Hermione.

"Little solid blocks of water that form on hard surfaces when the weather is cold. They fall sometimes when the temperature begins to rise." The completely superfluous explanation came from the imposter version of George Weasley. Rose felt herself flush. This woman or whatever she was had some cheek!

"Sarcasm the new Weasley Weapon, eh, George," Hermione responded with a smile.

"Anyway," said Harry, as he walked back to the head of the table, "let's leave that aside and get back to the reason I've convened the D.A. again."

"Yes, it's been so long, Harry – is it something serious?" The question came from Parvati.

"Honestly, mates – I don't know for sure yet. It may be, it may not, but my gut instinct says I should be sharing this with you." He took a look around the room. "Not as many as we used to be, are we?"

"People move on and move away from the things that they once found exciting, Harry. Not everyone wants to always be saving the world," Neville said quietly.

"Well, that's besides the point – which I should be getting to, or you folks will be throwing stuff at my head. I trust most of you are familiar with the name Hernwig Hubstein?"

There were nods all around the table. Rose herself felt that she had heard or seen the name somewhere. _On a book-cover back home_, she recalled.

"Just to recap," continued Harry, "Mr. Hubstein was the German Minister for Magic – or Chancellor or whatever they call them out there – until five years ago. Prior to that, he was the Head of the Department for International Magical Co-operation in his country. He's also famous for his research into Eastern Magical traditions and forms and has published over a dozen books on the subject, including _Beastly Barbarian Savages of the East_ and _Holy Smoke! _He's also very...dead."

Rose thought she saw the hint of a smile on Harry's face as the import of his words sank in around the table. _Always the showman, eh, Uncle Harry?_ she questioned him mentally.

"It happened about a week ago. You'll be wondering why it's not been splashed around newspapers around the Wizarding world yet – my only answer is that the German press is not as free as our own – in fact, Hubstein owned the three biggest 'papers in the country and his lawyers are suppressing the story. Not sure what they intend to achieve, given that the man was pretty scandalous while alive, but there you have it."

Harry paused to take a drink of water. Rose contemplated her favourite uncle as he raised the glass to his lips. He had not changed much from the photographs of him from his student and "Battle of Hogwarts" days that she had seen so often. His face was still youthful, his figure still on the thin side and his hair still rather messy. He loved to laugh, often saying that if his days battling Lord Voldemort had taught him anything, it was the importance of laughing whenever you could. Aunt Ginny was different – more distant, somehow. Rose was a little afraid of her, if anything, and slightly resented her for the patronising manner she adopted when speaking to her father. She brought her mind back to bear on the scene before her though, as Harry was resuming.

"He died suddenly in his own dining room. He was discovered by his house-elf the next morning. It was assumed to be an _Avada Kedavra_ that did him in, as the body seemed to show all the typical signs of an AK murder. Moreover, since his mistress was missing, it was also assumed that she must have been the murderess."

"I take it from your careful usage of the word 'assumed' that what you just said was not actually what happened?" asked the imposter George.

"Well, let's put it this way – when the German Auror department got in on the act, they couldn't prove that was what it appeared to be. There wasn't the slightest magical trace in the room. They interrogated the portraits and were informed that he had been reading at the table when he suddenly went stiff and fell to the ground. There was nobody else in the room at the time. That's when they called me to come and see if I could make any better sense of it."

"And could you?" asked Parvati.

"I think so. But to explain, I'll have to step back in time a bit. The thing is, Ginny and I have known Hubstein for a while – had known him, I mean. We met at a Ministry-sponsored event a few years after Voldemort's death. He was still the Chancellor back then. I didn't particularly like him, but you have to be polite to a Chancellor and when he invited us to visit his place we really weren't in a position to refuse. About a year later we received a formal invitation to spend a week with him at his winter getaway in the south of France and so we sent the kids to stay with Ron and Hermione and took off."

"It was bloody awful," Ginny took over, "I mean, the house was absolutely gorgeous, it was obvious that the man had good taste and lots of money and knew how to spend it, but it really got on our nerves after a while. He seemed to revel in orgies and wild parties every night. The place would fill with hordes of beautiful people every night and Firewhiskey would flow like water. The next time around he invited us to his home in Bonn – it was much later, almost five years after that first time. It was quieter and a much nicer trip, overall. As you know, he was also the foremost scholar of oriental magic and his library was a treasure-trove of information."

"That's also when we met his then-mistress – Raylene her name was, if memory serves me right, and she can't have been a day older than twenty-five. We visited him three more times, and each time he had a different woman whom he introduced as his 'special friend' – each one seemingly younger than the last one," Harry said, beginning to walk around the table towards where Neville was sitting. "Not something we thought very highly about, but that was his choice and it wasn't really our place to comment on it. He was hospitable enough and as Ginny pointed out, his knowledge of the different streams of magic was formidable and if one overlooked his libertine ways, he was not a bad sort of chap. It was a bit of a shock when I got a call from my counterpart in Germany saying the old chap was dead – he must've been in his seventies but he'd always seemed terribly alive."

"Why wouldn't he feel that way, given the fact that he was cavorting with women old enough to be his grand-daughters?" Ginny smiled sardonically.

"Anyway, I went over last Saturday. Checked out the scene of the death and all that. It was as they said – no sign of magic having been performed. His own wand showed that the last spell he had cast had been to cool his glass of wine. There was no trace of the trophy mistress either. She seemed to have disappeared as well – so it was pretty reasonable to assume that she was responsible, but we just couldn't figure out _how _she had done it."

"That's right – assume it's the woman who did it!" said Luna Lovegood.

"Circumstantial evidence, Luna," said Harry with a good-natured smile. "For a couple of days we continued looking around the house to see if anything was missing to indicate the motive and speaking to Hubstein's friends to know whether they knew of any reason why the girlfriend should have killed him. No one seemed to have an idea. We had neither motive nor a murder method – until, that is, I happened to speak to an old friend of mine who supplied me the answers I needed."

Neville smiled.

"Harry flatters me, really. It wasn't me who got him on the right track – in fact it wasn't an old friend of Harry's at all. It was an old enemy. Does anyone here remember Professor Snape?"


	4. Knocks

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, I would not have to work for a living. I do have to work for a living, therefore I do not own Harry Potter. Q.E.D.

**Chapter 4**

**Knocks**

It wasn't easy being Scorpius Malfoy. For one thing, you had to deal with your grandfather being a raving lunatic. For another, everyone in your school thought it awfully suspicious that you weren't exactly like him, or at the very least, like your father. For that matter, Scorpius found himself terribly confused when it came to his father. He'd read enough to know that his father had done some things in the last war that were pretty despicable, but it didn't square with Draco Malfoy he knew at all. This didn't apply to his grandfather, though – the things _he'd _allegedly done Scorpius found perfectly believable. _Whether it's because of Dad or Old Crazy, I don't know, but it'd certainly be nice if Rose and her whole family didn't act like I had a particularly contagious strain of dragon-pox, _he thought as he rode the broom towards Hogsmeade. _Not a bad broom at all! In fact it's way smoother than the old Thunderbird 7 that I use at school! _He looked closely at the handle to check for the brand and model number, but to his surprise he found none. If anything, the broom looked rather old, but he was an experienced flyer – best Seeker Slytherin had had in years – and he knew he was sitting on a very fine piece of wood indeed. _Should check it out later, _he told himself and then his thoughts turned, as they so often did, to Rose again.

What was it about her that he found so fascinating? He had often asked himself that. It shouldn't be that difficult to fathom, after all, Scorpius was firmly convinced that Rose was probably the only person in Hogwarts who didn't realise how unbelievably beautiful she was. But it wasn't just her thick brown hair, delicate features and slender waist that he found irresistible. Wasn't she the first 'friend' he had made back on the Hogwarts Express? Wasn't she the girl who had stood up for him back in their second year when James Potter and his friends had tried to hex him for no better reason than that 'He's a Malfoy'? Hadn't she been the one who always laughed at his jokes in class, who attended all his Quidditch matches and clapped loudest when he caught the snitch (even against Gryffindor)? Wasn't she just the sweetest, gentlest...

His reverie was interrupted by the appearance of the rooftop of the cottage that housed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes – easily identifiable by the prominent "W" that was emblazoned across it. Socrpius eased into a landing on the tarmac outside the shop, only to be greeted by a "Closed for Business" sign hung on the door.

He dismounted the broom and walked over to the shop-front. A number of products were on display – the classics like the Skiving Snackbox and the Canary Creams jostled for space with the latest innovations like the Mucking Mouse and Stepny Stork.

_Bit early to be closed, _he thought as he brushed his cloak down, _but Rose said I should check in on him, so I guess I should. _He knocked on the door, knowing that even if the shop was closed, Mr. Weasley would probably still be inside the shop taking inventory or something. On finding no response for several minutes, Scorpius did what he thought was the most obvious thing in the world – he blasted an _"Alohomora!" _at the lock, at which it shot open like it had been stung.

The next moment, Scorpius wished he had given up at the first instance and headed off to the Three Broomsticks for a drop of Butterbeer, because he found himself staring down the barrel of what he recognised as a Muggle gun.

* * *

His first instinct was to run. Scorpius Malfoy had no illusions about being particularly brave. His father had always impressed upon him the importance of minding his own business and he'd largely followed that maxim. The Sorting Hat had detected this as well, of course. Scorpius clearly remembered sitting on that wooden stool and putting on the threadbare hat which said, straight off,

"_Ah, another Malfoy – been a while since we had one of you...Slytherin like your father I suppose? Not hard-working enough for Huffflepuff, that I can see and though talented not exactly thirsty for knowledge. How do you feel about Gryffindor?"_

"_No, my grandfather would slaughter me!" he had said as clearly as he could in his mind._

"_Just as I thought. If you're scared of old Lucius I certainly don't think you have any business in the house of the brave at heart. Off to SLYTHERIN with you!"_

At some point during this rehashing of his memories Scorpius realised that he would most likely be shot if so much as dared to move.

"Drop that wand," the man at the other end of the gun shouted.

Scorpius, who had been holding the wand lightly in his right hand, dropped it to the ground without creating a fuss. He allowed himself to get a good look at his captor as he was shoved into the room and the door closed behind him. The man looked old but sprightly and had piercing blue eyes and a thinning head of white hair.

"Wrong time to come breaking and entering, lad," his assailant said in a mocking tone.

"Was just looking for Mr. Weasley," said Scorpius. "I'm one of his best customers."

"Saw a little more than you were looking for, didn't you?" the man said, picking up Scorpius' wand from the floor. "Pretty useless without this little stick, you fellers are. Take your pal Weasley over there – I laid him out cold with a golf club to the head. All the magic in the world ain't no good if you don't have this wand."

Scorpius looked towards where the man was pointing as he said this, and winced to see George Weasley lying in the corner, a stream of blood trickling down his head from a nasty wound in his left temple. He did appear to be breathing, which was a relief, but Scorpius wondered how much longer.

"I'd just like to...," he began

"Wondering who I am and how I got here and why I attacked Weasley?"

"No, actually I -"

"I'm not going to tell you, lad, because I will be pumping a bullet through your brain before I put one through Weasley here, just ab-"

He probably didn't have much more to say, given that he had already cocked the gun, but he was prevented from completing even that by the fact that his pants had caught fire.

The effect of feeling one's tender bits do an imitation of popping corn tends to be instantaneous. The gunman screamed, dropped both the gun and Scorpius' wand and fell to the ground in an agony of pain, clutching his crotch.

Scorpius bent to take his wand back and pointed it at the gun, transfiguring it into a screwdriver. This done – and feeling a lot safer for it – he proceeded to cast a binding spell on the man, using magical ropes to tie him up.

"As I was saying, my friend, I'd just like to point out that most wizards can do a little wandless magic, like setting an object on fire. Dashed useful, isn't it? Not a very powerful spell as a rule – the one I lit in your privates is already dying down. Pity – it certainly warmed up the place."

He walked over to where George Weasley was lying and examined the wound. It didn't look too bad and Scorpius knew a basic healing spell or two, so he was able to stem the flow of blood easily enough. He shook the unconscious man to his senses.

George Weasley was no longer the lissome redhead of two decades earlier. He was quite stout and his hair had begun to thin, but he still had a youthful, smiling face that peeled off years when he gave the trademark Weasley grin. He wasn't exactly grinning when Scorpius helped him to his feet, but that was probably to be expected in the circumstances.

"All right, Mr.W?" asked Scorpius.

"I think so, though I should probably come see Poppy about my head. What on earth's happened here?"

"I think I just happened to come in before this person here shot you with a Muggle gun."

"A Muggle gun? Most extraordinary! Why in the name of my Uncle Bilius' overcoat would he do that? Did I prank you in a particularly bad way when I was young and didn't know any better, my good man?"

An angry mumble was the only response. Scorpius, always one to do things thoroughly, had ensured that a strand of the magical rope was tightly wound around the man's mouth rendering him speechless.

"I guess I owe you my life, young man," said George, gently massaging his head. "Wait a minute, aren't you Malfoy's son?"

"I'm Scorpius Malfoy," was the simple response.

"Well well well, never thought I'd owe a Malfoy anything but a punch in the snooter," said George, shaking his head as he walked behind the shop counter and reached down, "though I mean no offence to present company, of course. I suppose your father mentioned his rivalry with my family when we were in school together?"

"My father rarely talks about his schooldays, Mr. Weasley," replied Scorpius. "If that's all, I guess I'll wait outside."

"Hey, don't get me wrong, kid," said George earnestly, "I wasn't an angel back then either – we all did and said things I'm sure we find silly now – though I make a living out of encouraging that sort of stuff. Get it out of the system in your school-days and you can be more mature when you're out, I've always felt. Look at that ass Tom Riddle, your grandfather's old friend – was a model student in his Hogwarts days and broke out into quite a blaze of very opprobrious behaviour in later life. Butterbeer?"

Scorpius couldn't help smiling. He was used to being defensive about his family and their former connections, especially around anyone connected with the Weasleys. But this man seemed to have a knack for taking things in his stride and putting a humorous perspective on them. Scorpius decided George Weasley was his favourite member of the Potter-Weasley clan barring, of course, Rose. Since everyone else he knew from the clan had hexed him at least once, this wasn't a very difficult rating to make.

"Wouldn't mind a sip," he said, and perched himself on a stool. "What do you intend to do about our friend here?"

"Call the Auror squad I guess. D'you think he's actually a muggle?"

"Or a squib. Don't you know him at all? Why would he come here of all places?"

"Very puzzling, given that I keep all my money in Gringotts. For a non-magical person to risk trying to rob a wizard...well he almost did until you came in, of course. How did you take care him?"

"Wandless _Incendio_," replied Scorpius, accepting the bottle that was offered to him, "lit up his privates quite nicely. Observe the burn marks."

"Exhibit duly noted. That's not a bad piece of magic there – very good work. He'd have shot me for sure if you hadn't?"

"He'd have shot me first. Do you think we should interrogate him?"

"I'll owl the Auror department. Hope they get here soon."

Scorpius continued to sip his drink while the older man sent his owl.

"So - Scorpius, did you say your name was?"

"Yes. Don't ask me why. I wasn't consulted." He smiled wryly.

"The sins of the parents, young man – I have a sister called Ginevra. So while we wait – whatever happened to Draco Malfoy? He completely dropped out of everyone's sight after the war until a few years ago when he resurfaced at the Hogwarts Express platform."

"Dad pretty much had to drop out of sight. The Ministry confiscated the family property and left us with nothing to live on. I'm told we were rich before the war."

"Loaded. Lucius Malfoy was one of the richest wizards in Great Britain. The Ministry did sort of extract a heavy price for not putting your family in Azkaban."

"Well I never knew that life. Dad wasn't likely to get a paying job in the Wizarding World either after that, so he took a house in a Muggle neighbourhood in Surrey with what we got from selling the few artefacts we had left and took a job in a Muggle company selling lawnmowers. It was a struggle – still is. Grandpa lives with us and he's plain off his rocker – can't stop talking about the old days and shouts and yells sometimes to be reunited with the dark lord. Grandmother is mostly just depressed and silent. Dad's rather reserved and distant with all of us, like he's weighed down by the responsibility of caring for us. I almost think he was disappointed I turned out magical and not a squib like Mom, since it meant he had to re-enter the Wizarding world."

"Your mother is Daphne Greengrass' sister, right? I remember Daphne – very beautiful girl. Never saw Astoria, she being a squib and stuff. Where'd she go to school?"

"King's, Warwick. Mom's pretty much the one who's kept us going – she's been a pillar of strength and support for us through it all."

"I know the feeling," said George softly. "Are you going back to Hogwarts now? It's pretty late."

"I promised to wait for Rose here, so I'll stay if you don't mind – it's very strange but she actually told me to come here and check if you were all right."

"Rose? Ron's daughter? Did she say any more? Where's she?"

It occurred to Scorpius that he had left Rose very clearly trying to hide from something or someone. This would be a tricky one to get out of.

"I left her back at school, I guess. She couldn't get away because she was playing Wizard's chess with Moose but said she'd be coming along later. Then she seemed to remember something and asked me to check on you – said she'd seen something in Divination and though she was sure it was a load of humbug she thought it best to be safe. Good for us she thought of it!"

"Don't tell me the girl is turning out to be a seer. Hermione would be scandalised. Wonder when those damn Aurors will get here. Are you sure you've got our friend bound tight?"

"Quite sure. You can ask your nephews how effective the spell is," Scorpius responded with a sly smile. "Though I suppose at times like this one wishes telephones worked in Hogsmeade."

"Tsk tsk...these family feuds...on the other hand, I suppose they give as good as they get?"

"I like to think I have the upper hand, Mr. Weasley."

George shook his head with a smile and opened another bottle – this time of Firewhiskey.

"Care for a drop?"

"I probably shouldn't."

"I'll probably regret it too, since this is some of my best stock. So, tell me – what goes on at Hogwarts nowadays? Do they still remember the Weasley twins?"

* * * * * * * * *

Scorpius couldn't remember the last time he had spent as pleasant an evening, despite the fact that he had nearly been killed and the would-be murderer had fixed a baleful glare on them all the time. Scorpius had been raised, as he had said, in a Muggle neighbourhood and had little exposure to magic outside his own home. Hearing George Weasley talk about Hogwarts in his day, living under the shadow of the Dark Lord's second coming, about Dumbledore, Umbridge, Snape and all those relics of a bygone era made what he had read in the history books somehow become more alive. His father never spoke about it, though he had been a part of it and Scorpius knew little of what role his family had actually played beyond the fact that his grandmother Narcissa had, at one point of time, held the fate of the war in her hand. This he knew because he had read about it in the _Daily Prophet _archives in the Hogwarts school library – it was the report on the war trials in which Lucius and Narcissa Malfor had been given a suspended sentence in view of the 'extenuating circumstances put forth by Harry Potter'. He'd read about the heroes of the war as well – about Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. About Neville Longbottom, who had killed Nagini, the Dark Lord's monstrous familiar. About Theodore Nott, the only Slytherin to return with Professor Slughorn to fight on the side of what was right. About Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, whose son Teddy had been the head boy a couple of years before Scorpius had entered Hogwarts. About the Creevy brothers, only one of whom had survived the war.

Talking to George Weasley was like living a part of that history. Here was someone who had been in it, who had lost a brother and was living with the scars every day – in a way, just like his father who lived with the scars of having chosen the losing side.

They didn't even see the lengthening shadows outside as the darkness crept up and twilight gave way to night. In fact they were both rather surprised when they saw the hour hand of the clock showing seven in the evening when the knock sounded on the door.

"Must be the Aurors," said George walking to the door, which opened to admit Harry Potter.


	5. Resurrection

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, I would not have to work for a living. I do have to work for a living, therefore I do not own Harry Potter. Q.E.D.

**Chapter 5**

**Resurrection**

Rose caught her breath sharply. Thankfully, everyone else in the room appeared to have done the same thing, so it wasn't exactly noticed. She had heard of Professor Snape of course – who hadn't? The anti-villain (if such a thing existed) of the war, the trusted lieutenant of Albus Dumbledore, the spy in Death-Eater's clothing, the man who had contributed the most, barring Uncle Harry and Albus Dumbledore, to the defeat of Voldemort. She also knew he had died a very painful death in the Shrieking Shack some twenty years ago, which made the bringing up of his name rather surprising.

It was Rose's father who expressed what everyone at the table wanted to say:

"Of course we remember that greasy bat! I still wake up screaming when he pops into my nightmares. What does he have to do with all this?"

Again Rose noticed the hint of a smile on her Uncle Harry's face. He just couldn't resist a story well-told. Obviously Neville had also planned this speech well.

"I'll come to that, but you'll have to bear with me for a while yet. My part of the story really starts with my being an absolute troll at potions."

"Common knowledge, old man," said Ron, "we still haven't figured out whether you were more scared of Snape or whether he was more scared you'd blow up his classrooms."

"Err...yes, no need to rub it in, what? The point I was making was that despite my widely-acknowledged incompetence at potions, the job of a Herbology professor at Hogwarts all-too-often involves using potions on the plants to make them grow or otherwise aid in their development. So naturally when I started out I used to approach Slughorn to make the required potions for me. When Slughorn left, I worked out a comfortable arrangement with his replacement, Nott."

"That's Theo Nott from your year, isn't it?" asked Mr. Jordan.

"The same," Neville replied with a nod, "One of the more decent chaps I've come across. He's pretty competent at potions too. Well, about two years ago Nott decided to go out of the country for the school vacations – to South America to study ingredients derived from the Amazonian rain forests. Around two weeks after he'd left I found myself facing an emergency in the greenhouse – the Circean herbs were in danger of dying out if I didn't administer them a draught of the _Molius Swineous._ Now it's a devilish difficult potion to brew and no one I knew was too confident of doing it well. Nott was not contactable in whatever dark corner of the world he was in, so I took off to Diagon Alley and put out an S.O.S. at Flourish and Botts – who directed me to Knockturn Alley. I won't go into how many shops I had to pass through that said the same thing – the gist was that there was a recently-opened artefact house which supplied potions on an 'advance-order' basis. Since there didn't seem to be any other option, I put a hand on my wand and ventured into Knockturn. The place is called "_Sheila's Sorcery_" and seems to deal mostly in relics from shipwrecks. Sheila is a very attractive lady who dresses like someone from the seventeenth century and she did take the order. Sure enough, two days later the potion was delivered to my window by Owl. It worked wonderfully well – in fact was more effective than anything Theo's come up with since I've known him. So the next time I needed something, I ordered with Sheila again -"

"Are we sure that Sheila being a very attractive lady had nothing to do with your ordering from her again?" asked Parvati, smiling.

"Quite sure," laughed Neville, "because I sent the second order by owl. This potion was quite perfect as well, so I began to order more and more difficult concoctions just to see whether they could be made and not once did I get anything less than a perfect potion. Finally I ordered Wolfsbane and got a note from Sheila saying '_Our potion maker has asked us to inform you that if you wish to continue testing his abilities, he can send you a vial of Morticentum which is not only the most difficult-to-brew potion known to Wizardkind, but will cure you of your idle curiosity by killing you in exactly as many hours as you consume drops of it._' I didn't order any more after that, as you can imagine and managed with Theo's potions."

"To be honest, I'd heard of this wonderful potion maker from Knockturn Alley myself, though it never occurred to me to use his services since I have access to the Ministry resources. I met Neville for dinner when I returned from Germany and we ended up discussing the case," Harry said as Neville paused, "over a bottle of Old Smee's Port. That was when Neville remembered the note he had received."

"So you think it was this _Morti-_whatever that was used to do in Hubstein?" asked Mr. Jordan.

"It definitely sounded more likely than anything else I'd tried to fit to the facts of the case till then," said Harry, "so when Neville mentioned it, I knew I had to find out more about this potion. It wasn't in any of our schoolbooks obviously – I immediately owled Hermione but even she had never heard of it, nor anyone in the Auror department. So we found ourselves in another fix – until Neville suggested the obvious – asking the mysterious potion-maker himself."

"So we went to Knockturn Alley," continued Neville, "and asked Sheila if we could send an owl to her supplier. She flatly refused, saying that she herself had only ever communicated with him via his owl which used to make two trips to her shop every day – one to pick up orders and another to deliver the potions. She had no idea what the chap looked like or where he lived. Naturally that got us rather disappointed so we decided to go to a shady bar in Knockturn Alley to cheer ourselves up by drinking" - here Rose was very sure she heard Aunt Ginny groan - " a few glasses of whiskey. It was after we'd had our seventh glass..."

"His seventh, my fourth," Harry cut in hastily.

"No, I'm quite sure that..."

"Neville doesn't know what he's talking about. Anyway the point is that we were in the shady bar, drinking within acceptable limits, when I had a brilliant plan. Sheila had said that the owl to deliver the pending orders arrived punctually at four every afternoon. Now it was obvious that the owl would return to its master – so what was to prevent us from following the owl on a broom."

"The fact that it's a perfectly harebrained idea!" exclaimed Hermione. "You can't follow an owl on a broom. They fly too fast and too high!"

"Not if you're the finest seeker to ever play for Gryffindor, apparently," said Neville, with a sardonic smile, "At least we didn't think so then."

"You were totally drunk, weren't you?" asked Ron.

"Completely. I passed out in the bar itself and Harry took hold of his trusted Thistle 75 and set off to follow an owl."

"The thing about flying through clouds is that they're cold and watery and tend to wake you up," said Harry, "so after about an hour of flying behind that dratted bird I was quite sober again and cursing myself for getting drunk enough to venture into this. Having said that, I was keeping up with the owl and figured I might as well see it through. I won't go into details about the flight – just trust me when I say that I've had _Crucio_'s fired at me which didn't hurt nearly as much. Finally the owl landed in a desolate spot of land in what I later found out was Yorkshire. I was glad to land – I literally felt frozen. I saw the owl disappear into a smallish cottage – little better than a hut, really - surrounded by a sparse hedge. A few warming spells later I felt up to facing whatever was inside. There's never a proper way to intrude on a Wizard who clearly does not want to be intruded on, so I just barged inside."

"Hang on a second!" Ron had his hand raised.

"Yes?" asked Harry.

"If I get the drift of this story right, you're about to tell me that you barged into an isolated cottage that housed _Professor Snape_, who should be dead – and that you came out of it alive? I'm sorry mate, are you sure you two didn't just dream it in your drunken stupor?"

Harry laughed.

"Five minutes after meeting him, that's precisely what I wished it was. But no – why take away another man's story? Yes, I did meet our former Potions professor who is very much alive and he didn't assassinate me though I won't deny it was a close thing" - Harry stopped to consult his watch - "and if my watch is correct, that should be him right about now come to tell us how stupid we all are."

Rose started as, almost as if on cue, the door to the room grunted open and let in a tall man dressed in black robes. Rose stared at him through the Invisibility Cloak, with the same open-mouthed wonder that she knew was on the faces of most of the other people present there.

It was left to her mother to articulate what they were all thinking.

"You cannot be Professor Snape. You died. I SAW YOU DIE!"

The man raised an eyebrow at her. He no longer had the thick black hair from the pictures that Rose had seen of him. They were greyer now and less greasy. His face was as pale as before, though more lined with age and Rose couldn't help but notice the slight stoop in his gait. His expression of barely-masked contempt hadn't changed though – Rose had heard it referred to too often not to recognise it now when this history-book figure had jumped out at them like this.

"How very typical, Miss. Granger – no, Mrs. Weasley now, isn't it? Didn't you ever wonder why no body was ever found? Or did you assume that the Death-Eaters had disposed of it? You always had all the information required but never the intelligence to put it together," he said in a smooth teasing voice like melting butter. Rose found herself torn between feeling angry at the insult to her mother and a desire to laugh at the expression on her face.

To Rose's surprise, it was her father who spoke next.

"Horcrux! You created one when you killed Professor Dumbledore!"

"I'm quite impressed, Weasley. Marriage seems to have considerably increased your intelligence."

"But that's the most dreadful dark magic! How could you possibly..." Hermione's voice trailed off as Snape raised his wand. Rose could see both Uncle Harry and Neville instinctively reach for theirs.

"The world isn't divided into good people and those who know dark magic, Mrs. Weasley, as an old adversary of mine might have once told you, though maybe not in those words. To know the Dark Arts is not to embrace the ideals they embody. Yes, I did create a Horcrux. Yes, it was when I...had to kill him." His voice seemed to trail off at the end, almost as though he was reluctant to relive that particular episode.

"But then...that still leaves so many questions..."

Snape walked over to an empty chair and seated himself.

"I don't have the time to answer all your questions, Mrs. Weasley, and I'm sure no one else does either. Mr. Potter has forced me to reveal my presence to you due to some misguided notion of his..."

"I think it's very important that you put your talents to better use than running a mail order potions business, Professor Snape," said Harry softly but firmly, "and as an outfit that proudly claims to be inspired by the late Albus Dumbledore, we feel we would do well to be guided by the only man who knew his methods and whom he trusted to preserve and take his life."

"Some outfit!" came the reply accompanied by a sneer, "mediocre Wizards, most of you. A radio show host, a model, a naturalist, a joke-shop owner. This menagerie is the self-appointed guardian of the Wizarding world?"

"It worked for us before, Professor," said Neville, "and there's no reason why it won't again. The Dark Lord recruited only the most talented pureblood Wizards and look where he ended up."

"The Dark Lord miscalculated a few things."

"Like Harry's being able to defeat him," said Ginny, pride flashing in her eyes.

"Ah...Mrs. Potter. Strangely, you're probably the only one here who actually had a talent for potions. It was indeed fortunate that your husband managed, mostly through sheer dumb luck, to claim possession of the Elder Wand. In any case, if he hadn't succeeded, Mr. Longbottom here, whose reckless courage I have always acknowledged from the fact that he attended Potions class despite the imminent danger of blowing up himself and half the castle with him, had taken care of the last Horcrux. The reason I ensured I created one for myself was so that I could have killed the Dark Lord when the time came and he was exulting over his so-called victory. That too was part of his plan."

"It was part of Professor Dumbledore's plan to have you create a Horcrux?" asked Ron, incredulously.

"Yes. You could call it his back-up plan. Mr. Potter being a Horcrux, had to die at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Professor Dumbledore wanted me to kill him so that I should posses the Elder Wand, which would allow me to defeat the Dark Lord if the need arose. When Malfoy made a mockery of our plans by disarming him, the last command he gave me was by opening his mind to my legilimency and telling me to ensure I created a Horcrux – he had a feeling I might need one."

"It's all rather far-fetched," said Hermione, narrowing her eyes. "Where have you been for all these years, then?"

"My dear Miss Granger, were you really expecting me to waltz back in the Wizarding World trying to explain my innocence? It took Mr. Potter five years to convince the Wizengamot to clear my name posthumously! I was a known Death-Eater and had no desire to wait in Azkaban until the trial concluded. For all I knew, even if there was a trial it was not likely anyone would rise up to my defence. I suspect Mr. Potter would not have either if he had not thought me dead and gone. I travelled for a while, visited India, Arabia and Central Africa. On my return, I found it convenient to disappear into oblivion, apart from the potions business which was necessary to make some money. Until Potter here, whose tendency to meddle into people's lives is legendary, came sailing in through my window and threatened to print a story about my existence in the _Daily Prophet_ if I didn't agree to be a part of this doomed world-saving venture of his."

"I came in through the door, actually," said Harry in a reassuring tone.

"Uninvited and unwanted," the older man spat.

"But not altogether unwelcome, eh, Professor Snape? After all having crazy Lucius and sulky Draco Malfoy as the only other person you can speak to must not be much fun."

"So Draco's known about you all these years?" asked Luna. "He didn't mention it when we last met."

"I can only assume its one of those things he isn't particularly proud of," said Ron.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy has known about me, since he's not quite as unintelligent as Mr. Potter here in noticing why he occasionally has certain dreams."

"Malfoy is your Horcrux?" asked Hermione.

"There were only two people present when Dumbledore died. I needed to make a Horcrux of a living person so that I could be revived by transferring the piece of soul directly to my dead body – far easier than that convoluted spell used by the Dark Lord. If anyone of you present here thinks I would have shared a soul with Potter, you're even stupider than I remember you to be."

"Look, Harry, regardless of how this eminently disposable relic from our past got here, I still don't understand WHY he is!" protested Parvati.

"A part of me would have liked nothing better than to leave him cooped up in his little cottage on that desolate moor, Parvati, but after hearing what he had to tell me about the Hubstein case, I realised I had no choice but to bring him into our little group meeting. There's more to it than meets the eye."

"There always is, Miss Patil. You're still Miss Patil of course. What Mr. Potter is trying to tell you is that he was too stupid to figure out that Mr. Hubstein was murdered, but not by his so-called mistress. He's been murdered by a muggle organisation called the Routers. He's neither their first victim nor is he likely to be the last."

"A muggle 'organisation'? What exactly are you talking about, Professor?" asked Hermione.

"Visit your parents lately, Miss Granger – if you'll excuse my calling you that? If you do, you will find a very useful contraption at their home called a 'computer' which connects to something called 'the internet'. I'd suggest you use it once in a while. It's responsible for the breaking of the International Statute of Secrecy and that is why, as I told Potter here, there are muggles in the world who know about us – resent us – and want to destroy us."


	6. Explanations

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't have to work for a living. Since I do, therefore I must not own Harry Potter. Q.E.D.

**Chapter 6**

**Explanations**

Rose shrunk into her cloak as the last remark caused an uproar at the table. She saw several people stand and a cacophony of voices protesting, her mother's the most strident.

"This is utterly nonsensical, Harry! He's just trying to spread his Anti-Muggle propaganda. I haven't heard anything more far-fetched than that. The idea of a there being a Muggle group out to – what is it? - take revenge on the Wizarding world is beyond ridiculous."

The others were speaking on the same lines. Harry appeared to be trying to pacify them – Rose thought she heard the words "I trust Professor Snape." said several times. The man in question continued to remain seated in his chair and looked at the others with a calm expression on his face. The situation seemed to be at an impasse, with tempers beginning to flare, when a small voice broke in on the gathering.

"I think he's right. I've heard about them too."

The gathering stopped short and turned to look at Katie Strang, the stringy brunette who had spoken for the first time.

"It's Paul who told me about them," she said, speaking hurriedly. "He said he'd read about them in some Muggle newspapers. They're largely dismissed as a bunch of crackpot weirdos who believe in the existence of magic by the world at large, but they do seem to take themselves very seriously. We thought it a little laughable at the time, but in the context of what Professor Snape here is saying, it seems to be a little more serious than that."

"Katie, are you saying there may be a solid basis to this...this fable?"

"What I've been trying to tell you, Hermione, for the last five minutes," said Harry in a firm tone, "is that it is NOT a fable. It's true and if you'll give an opportunity to explain everything, it will be just as clear to all of you."

The furore had definitely died down. Hermione resumed her seat, as did the others who had been arguing.

"Fine. Let's hear the whole story then, from Professor Snape, with no sarcasm and no snide remarks – if he's capable of it, that is." Hermione pursed her lips and sat with her arms crossed. Ron, too had a disbelieving look on his face, but he also sat, ready to listen.

"For your sake, Mrs. Weasley, I will try," said the old man, not without a sneer, "difficult as it will be. Let me take you through the last twenty-five years, then, since the death of Sirius Black. Mr. Potter here would already have told you some part of that story with varying degrees of accuracy. Let me try and fill in the gaps. You all know that I was a spy for the Order of the Phoenix at the time of the Dark Lord's second coming. One of his less intelligent plans was to order Draco Malfoy to kill Professor Dumbledore. What you don't know is that Narcissa Malfoy, whose love for her son greatly exceeded her commitment to Lord Voldemort, made me promise to protect her son from harm. Since nothing _but_ harm was likely to ensue from a plan to kill the most powerful wizard in the world, she made me swear an Unbreakable Vow to protect her son _and to do the task entrusted to him if it should appear likely that he should fail_. I had already promised to kill Albus when the time arose – that part of the story you know very well. When I was on that tower, wand pointed at the man I respected – and loved – the man who had saved me from myself, the last thing I was thinking about was my own life. I had to do it – I had to kill him because he told me I must. If I didn't do it, it was young Malfoy's life at stake. Mine I had no concern for. I fully intended to follow him down that tower – to commit suicide and let Draco take the credit. What had I to live for any more? I have only cared for three people in my life – my mother died before I was out of Hogwarts. My - " his voice seemed to be breaking but with an effort he seemed to recover " - Lily died the day I made the biggest mistake of my life. And Albus I was to kill with my own hands. It was then that Albus opened his mind to me and I saw through his plans – all his plans. About the Horcruxes, about his plans for Harry Potter, about the Elder Wand and most of all about how thin the thread was on which his hopes hung. It was clear in a flash that he intended me to live. To be close to the Dark Lord when the time came, to be the master of the Elder Wand – so that if he was wrong about Harry being able to survive the killing curse a second time, there would still be another man true to Dumbledore alive and willing to finish the job. That man was to be me, and the way to ensure it was to divide my own soul. I did it – had I not always followed his orders without question? It wasn't a new experience for me. A year later when I found myself dying in the Shrieking Shack I knew it was essential that Potter believe I was dead. In fact, I suppose I was for all practical purposes, until the Malfoy's arrived at the Shack. Draco was fully aware he was my Horcrux and I suppose he wanted to get rid of that piece of soul as soon as possible..."

"I remember him asking me where your body was!" said Ron.

"If you will refrain from interrupting, Mr. Weasley? Yes, Draco did arrive and performed the spell to revive me by restoring my soul from the piece that rested within him. It's a difficult spell but he was always a talented student. So little time had passed since my death that a few blood-replenishment potions and about a month spent at the Malfoy's mansion was enough to get me back to my full health. I left the country before the Malfoy's were put on trial, where they were intelligent enough not to reveal anything about my still being alive. The fact that I had told them not to probably had something to do with it – I think Lucius had begun to either fear me or revere me as the next Dark Lord. I spent a few years travelling in Muggle Europe, and that is where I first became aware of the existence of this group that called themselves The Routers. It was in Romania, where I was living in a hostel full of Muggle students that I saw the notice posted up – a meeting to discuss Witchcraft and how to combat it. I initially thought it was some typical religious Muggle nonsense, but something made me suspicious and I Polyjuiced myself to appear younger and attended that meeting. It was fairly evident that these were people who had, some way or the other, been exposed to actual magic – our magic. Whether it was accidental or whether they were victims of some sort of Muggle-baiting, I do not know, but it was stuff of that nature. They spoke about a 'website' that they had started and the 'forums' on there where other people around the world discussed the same things that led me to venture into a library and teach myself the way around computers. This was about four years into my exile, so the community was in quite a nascent stage of formation but they were already exchanging stories about magic they had seen. Much of it was utter rubbish – but there were enough stories that bore a ring of truth to make me think. Still, at the time there didn't seem to be anything to fear about a bunch of Muggles gossiping and I would only intermittently visit a library or similar set-up to find out what I could. I returned to England for the first time about five years into my exile when I ran out of money and set up the shack from where I operated my little Potions business. I still travelled extensively when I could, so my checking on The Routers was necessarily of a cursory nature, but I was vaguely disturbed by the reach of this Internet thing – where earlier a Muggle who claimed to have seen magic would be dismissed as being crazy simply because there would be nobody else who would have seen what he had, out there on this website of theirs people from all around the world could see and corroborate these stories. Suddenly the existence of magic was not so crazy an idea for them. The tone on the discussion forums gradually changed from one of wonder to one of resentment. I realised that some of the people on there were not Muggles at all, but Squibs and those who had actually known a Wizard or Witch. There was a strong feeling that we were using them, manipulating them behind the scenes and that we had to be stopped."

"I don't quite follow," said Parvati.

"I wouldn't expect you to, but Mr. Potter probably knows exactly what I'm referring to. The feeling that there is someone more powerful than you who may be controlling your destiny is guaranteed to breed resentment and eventually anger. The fact that we do _not _control them is irrelevant to these people, the fact is that they perceive that we do and that makes them intent on causing us harm."

"Do they intend to...destroy wizard-kind altogether?" asked the fake George Weasley.

"I don't pretend to know their specific intentions. Yes, they mean to free themselves from the shackles that they believe we have imposed on them. I suppose that means destroying us, yes but how exactly I do not know. But I digress - my next actual exposure to this shady group was not until about five years ago in India. Mr. Potter and I barely missed each other there, or else this discussion may have happened five years ago."

He paused now and looked significantly at Harry. Rose thought her Uncle looked a little unsure of himself.

"The Babari massacres," said Harry, "were an unsavoury episode. Some of you know about the incidents, but I'll go over it again for those who don't. Shortly after James had started school, I got an Owl from our friend Dean Thomas. He was on a painting expedition in India -at the Taj Mahal - and asked me to come and join him urgently. He said it was an emergency and that he suspected Dark Wizard involvement. I went to New Delhi as fast as I could and from there to Agra where I found Dean living in the magical quarter of that city. He told me a tale of the most horrifying carnage. An entire train had been burned on the route from New Delhi to Agra, killing over a thousand people. Dean had been on that train and he had barely managed to escape with his life. Unfortunately, his wife Lavender and his daughter Ciara – did not make it."

There were gasps around the table. Several mouths opened as if to speak, but Harry forestalled them with a raised hand.

"Haven't any of you wondered why Dean hasn't been seen in Wizarding England for so many years? He's become a complete recluse, living in his mansion down in Dover and while he still releases his paintings in the galleries, Dean has not shown himself in public since that incident. But that was later – when I reached there I could tell he was angry and vengeful. 'It wasn't an accident, Harry,' he told me. 'There's a Dark Wizard behind this – the fire started out of nowhere and simply engulfed that train. I saved as many lives as I could, casting shielding spells as I ran through the compartments and Lavender tried to do the same, but she died anyway. There is no way a Witch would be killed by an ordinary fire, and you know it, Harry. This is magical work. Evil magic.' I started my investigations from the scene of the crime itself. The Indian Ministry of Magic was clueless – in fact they refused to investigate, saying it was probably a Muggle accident. Barely a few days later, another fire broke out, this time in a temple in South India. The next week, another one, in a cinema hall in Bombay. The casualties were being numbered in the thousands in each case."

"But...that would mean a total death count of..." It was the fake George again. Rose couldn't help feeling that he – or she – sounded truly surprised and saddened.

"Yes, almost four thousand people. The more I knew about it the more it scared me – this was wanton killing on a scale even Riddle had never undertaken. The scenes of the attacks themselves were too horrifying to describe. At the third attack I was thankfully able to reach the scene of the crime in time to find the trace of a magical signature which proved Dean's theory right. With that evidence I was able to confront the local Aurors and finally get a full-scale investigation launched. We carried on for nearly a month, but had no luck. The attacks also seemed to have stopped. Then, suddenly a report of a Wizard's death appeared in the _Mogul Times_ and it was revealed that this dead Wizard – Babar his name was - had been behind the attacks. Dean and I rushed to the place to find that the story appeared to be true. When we went through his belongings, it was evident that he had planned the attacks – there were calculations to show when the train ran at its most crowded, when the temple had the most visitors and when the cinema hall was at its most full."

"But how was this monster killed if not by you?" asked Parvati.

"Hanged himself," said Harry. "It wasn't a pretty sight, but no less than he deserved in some ways. Apparently he was a well-known bigot, with a background of attacking Muggles and having stated his intention to usher in an era of Wizard domination. Dean didn't take it too well, it must be said, to know that he had been deprived by Babar's suicide of the vengeance he had wanted to take. I returned to England with Dean and tried to put the episode out of my mind – until Professor Snape reminded me of it the day before yesterday."

"As I said, Mr. Potter and I barely missed each other on that occasion. I was in India too at the time, studying the magical arts as they are practised in that ancient culture. Some branches of their magic function very differently from our own, which Mr. Potter failed to consider in his investigations. For instance, Wizards in India do not use wands."

"What? How do they do magic, then?" asked Ron.

"Entirely wandless. Their magic is completely independent of wandlore and its intricacies – and has advantages and limitations. Of course, this necessarily means that their spells cannot be as powerful as our own. What I mean is, that they have practised in such a way that they can do a wandless _Lumos _or even a S_tupefy_ in a much more powerful manner than you or I could without a wand, but not as powerfully as a trained British Wizard could do _with_ a wand. There probably isn't a single Wizard there who could cast an _Avada Kedavra_ simply because it is a spell requiring incredible magical power that must be focussed through a wand. What they do have is control over magical creatures. A lot of Indian magic focusses on being able to summon and master powerful creatures, both dark and light. I am told that in ancient days it was very common for every wizard to have a summoned creature of his own and as a result the need to perform wand-magic rarely arose. Over time, they simply stopped using wands altogether. And now – mastery of creature summoning too has become a lost art. Only a few licensed practitioners of the art exist, all of them prominent Ministry officials.

"When the first fire happened, my reaction was also to assume it was an accident. For a Wizard to have caused that fire would have required casting _Fiendfyre_ and that is another spell that I'm sure cannot be cast without a wand. When the next two fires happened, I still assumed it was a Muggle arsonist for the same reason. Then I read the report about the death of the Wizard who was named as the perpetrator of these crimes and decided I needed to find out more. When I made enquiries, I naturally found that Potter had been meddling in the case in his usual mutton-headed way. I took care to stay out of his path, and after the case files had been closed, I broke into the dead man's house to look for evidence to prove that he had a wand. There wasn't any. Not only was there not a wand – which was understandable since if he had one it would have been confiscated – but there was not a single book on using a wand. As you can imagine, their magical curriculum is vastly different from ours, so if Babar – born and educated in India – was to have been using a wand, it could not possibly be without specific instruction. It was always possible that he had learned and not retained the books, but I found that a little far-fetched. Then I found a book of advanced summoning spells. Not your simple charms that Filius would have taught you in Hogwarts. It was a book on summoning magical creatures, some of whom are capable of incredible feats, if the book was anything to go by. I could find at least three kinds of creatures that could have started a magical fire – one was a War-drake, a creature smaller than a dragon but possessing similar qualities, another was a type of _Asura_, an evil race of humanoid creatures that supposedly dwell in the underworld and the third was a kind of Fire Nymph called an _Apsara_. I had found the method by which the massacres had been perpetrated – obviously one of these creatures had been used to commit the massacres, though which one exactly, I did not know."

"Did the book mention how these creatures could be summoned?" asked Hermione.

"No, it only contained descriptions of them. I vaguely recall seeing a companion book with the details on how to go about the summoning. Before I could get hold of it, however, I heard a strange noise outside the house and went to the window to see what was happening. It's a fortunate thing I did, because right about then, a group of people broke in through the back door. I concealed myself and watched as they broke, smeared and burned many of the magical artefacts and books lying around the house. I didn't wait for them to bump into me – as they eventually would have, I'm sure. I Apparated back to my temporary lodgings, but not before I heard them raise a shout – '_The Routers have struck! Another magic-wielder is dead!'"_

"But how would a group of Muggles defeat a Wizard who apparently had a powerful magical creature at his command?" asked Luna.

"I admit I'm speculating here, since I don't know exactly how the creature-summoning magic works. My guess is that the creature was not a War-drake – since those stay by their summoner's side at all times. The _Asura_ and the _Apsara,_ I believe, have a great deal of free will and are not tied to the Wizard at all times. If attacked in sufficient numbers even by Muggles the Wizard could have been overpowered and the sham suicide set up."

"I'm against vigilante justice, but I can't help but wonder whether the actions of this man did not justify his end. The Routers must have looked upon this as extreme provocation!" said the fake George.

"It's besides the point now. Anyway I don't have a lot more to tell. I have tried to keep a track of the doings of this group but they have apparently retreated to the shadows since the Babar murder. Their websites have become more and more popular, but there is little to go on based only on that. It seems the actual crimes against Wizards are carried out by the elite group which obviously operates in secret. I have however come across at least a few Wizard murders, disappearances and suicides which could possibly have been the work of these Muggles. When Mr. Potter barged unceremoniously into my home and told me the facts of the Hubstein murder it was immediately obvious to me that _Morticentia_ had been used to carry out the crime. The symptoms matched perfectly and when Mr. Potter told me that the last spell performed by the dead man's wand was to cool his wine, it was evident that the drink had been poisoned."

"So we have the murder weapon – what about the murderer? Surely it must have been the mistress if she's missing from the scene," said Hermione, "Perhaps she's a member of the Routers."

"I'm inclined to believe not," said Snape, "though we cannot rule out the possibility. I have a theory, which Mr. Potter may be able to prove. I have here with me the book I had...err...retrieved from Babar's house five years ago."

Rose saw him delve into his robes and place something on the table. She rose slowly and tiptoed a little closer to the table. It was a fairly tattered-looking tome, though leather-bound. She could make out that the script was not English but didn't dare step any closer. Snape was turning the pages towards the end of the book.

"Here we are – I tried to show this to Mr. Potter but he, naturally, did not understand. Mrs. Weasley – I think you can decipher the script?"

Rose had no doubt whatsoever that her mother could decipher the script. Sure enough, Hermione has barely taken a proper glance at the page before she said,

"_Devnagari, _isn't it? Let's see now..."

The room was silent for a few minutes as Hermione went through the page indicated to her. Snape kept a steady gaze on his former student. A few minutes later, she looked up at him.

"So you think that Hubstein's mistress was – one of these?"

"That particular one."

"They are unique, then?"

"I think so, yes."

"But that means – wouldn't that be a form of sex slavery?"

"Precisely. And disgusting for that very reason, but I don't know if she saw it that way. Anyway, as you can see, it's impossible she could have harmed her master."

"Yes, the magic is binding. But then...now that he's dead, what becomes of her?"

"A return to where she came from. Hence the disappearance."

"But then...she can be summoned again?"

"Precisely."

"By them?"

"I don't know. Maybe the summoning cannot be carried out by Muggles. Maybe it can. Hubstein must have known. Maybe his papers will reveal something."

Rose sensed that the whole room was a little nonplussed at the conversation. Obviously her mother and the Professor were, for all their criticism of each other, intellectual equals.

"Harry," she said, now turning to her old friend, "what can we do?"

"I say, what's going on? Would anyone care to explain?" asked Ron.

Rose could almost feel the strain of fear that was running through her mother as she replied.

"Hubstein's mistress was not a mistress. She was a powerful magical creature – one of the _Apsaras_ that Professor Snape just mentioned. Legend has it that they are incredibly beautiful to look at. Probably the same one who was being used by this man Babar was now being used by Hubstein who, being the libertine he was, must have found out how to summon one in his studies in the east and used her as his mistress. The Routers in the meanwhile would have managed to figure out that she was the person behind the Babari massacres and that she would be useful to them. By killing Hubstein they freed her from his grip and perhaps have figured out how to summon her by now."

"And you think they will use her against Wizardkind?" said Ron, standing up.

"It's a possibility." said Harry, also rising."That is why I called this meeting. The thought of the Routers having a Fire Nymph of such power at their command is frightening. We don't know whether they have the knowledge or the ability to summon her right now, but what we need to do is to find out."

Rose stepped back towards the wall. A sense of being overwhelmed was beginning to seep into her. _What have Dad and Mom been pulled into! _She found herself wishing she did not know.

"_Morticentia_ requires very specific ingredients. One of them is the water of the rivers Ganges and the Nile mixed together in an equal proportion. I suggest someone investigate these two countries for a trace of the Routers," said Snape.

"I'll do it," said Mr. Jordan, "Angie and I were planning to do a travel show from Egypt anyway. I shall try to get in touch with the local authorities and investigate."

Rose listened with a growing sense of dread as responsibilities were assigned to various people. Her mother requested to borrow the book and see if she could find out more about these Apsaras that might help them. But it was when her father cheerfully offered to join Uncle Harry to Germany to revisit the crime scene and from there to India that her heart sank.

Rose was no fool. She might not be a particularly talented witch, but despite that – or maybe because of it, she was a very good thinker. In the Muggle school which she and Hugo had attended before they went to Hogwarts, she'd been at the top of her class in nearly all the subjects involving numbers. Somehow she knew that the reasoning used by the adults had a fatal flaw. That stuff about the Apsaras was all very fine, but what about the fact that, if the Routers knew so much about Wizards it was inevitable that they would have infiltrated the Magical world as well. There was a person sitting right now at the table who was _not _Uncle George. Rose had no doubt that this imposter was somehow connected to the Routers and that every bit of information she had just heard was about to be transmitted back to their enemies. That while the D.A. groped blindly for answers and information, the Routers would have very specific information on Uncle Harry, her parents and the rest.

The door to the outside world had opened and the members were beginning to leave in one's and two's. She saw the fake George Weasley stride nonchalantly through the door even as, just behind her, Harry placed a hand on Professor Snape's shoulder and motioned him to wait. The imposter was going to relay all that she had heard back to the Routers.

"Not if I have anything to do with it," Rose Weasley said to herself, as she gripped her wand tightly and slipped through the door.

**Author's Note: **Some apologies may be in order for the delay in updating. I'm doing the best I can, folks - unfortunately time is one of the many things I don't have in abundance. Regarding sticking to canon, I've tried to be fully compliant with the Books 1-7. Some of the interviews and website stuff from Ms. Rowling that are beyond the published word I fully admit I have taken liberties with.


	7. Confrontations

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, I would not have to work for a living. I do have to work for a living; therefore I do not own Harry Potter. Q.E.D.

**Chapter 7**

**Confrontations**

Rose would not have been able to say exactly what it was that she intended to do. While she had been hiding under the Invisibility Cloak inside the cave, the thought of revealing herself and shouting out, "That's not George Weasley! It's an impostor!" had struck her several times. However, better sense had prevailed. Rose knew that there would necessarily be a time gap from her making her presence known to the D.A. realising what was happening – time enough for the fake Uncle George to cause grievous harm, if not worse, to at least a few people before being overpowered. _What IS this creature anyway,_ Rose wondered,_ who can take on the shape and voice of Uncle George? I suppose she is connected to the Routers, but surely she must have some magical powers herself. Is she a Witch who has aligned herself with them? Hmm…that's not very likely and even if she was, I don't remember seeing a Witch or Wizard who could do a perfect morph into another person with a voice to match. Teddy Lupin is a Metamorphagus, but his voice gives him away most times._

Rose emerged from the cave into the fading daylight. The trees cast long shadows across the snow and Rose took advantage of that to step slowly away from the cave's mouth, careful not to leave too-noticeable footsteps in the snow. Some of the people who had been in the meeting seemed to have already left.

Rose could see her parents chatting with the pseudo-George. She quickly ran her mind through the options she had before her. _I have an Invisibility Cloak and the element of surprise, _she thought,_ which means I can definitely get one shot at this creature before she knows what hit her. The question is – will it be enough?_

Rose watched as Ron and Hermione waved their goodbyes and walked a few meters, hand-in-hand, before Disapparating. Neville and Parvati too went on their way, taking the road back to Hogsmeade on foot. There was now nobody around apart from Rose and her quarry. With the impostor's broom having been sent off in Scorpius' possession, Rose was pretty certain that she would waste a while searching in the woods for it. A bit of stealth would then give Rose the perfect opportunity to hit the spy from behind. _I need a spell that will prevent her from taking the news of this meeting back to the Routers. In fact I should be able to prevent her from going back at all! If I can neutralise their spy that would make their life a little difficult and right now, I'm all for anything that makes the Routers' life a little difficult._

She continued to watch her as both of them stepped deeper into the woods, the fake Uncle George obviously getting flustered as tree after tree revealed no hidden broom. Rose kept her distance, careful to stay out of earshot and only just within eyesight. Ahead of her she could discern the figure of her Uncle George turn and begin to walk back towards her. She began to move slowly to her right, waiting for the imposter to advance back in her direction. By dint of manoeuvring in a large semi-circle as the impostor walked in a straight line, Rose soon found herself standing directly behind her target.

Rose swallowed nervously. It would have to be a Memory charm. As powerful a charm as she could muster. She had never actually cast '_Obliviate' _before though she had studied about it in Professor Flitwick's class. Rose knew that if she could pull off a powerful enough spell, she could effectively wipe out the entire memory of the victim. _That should do the trick, _she thought, _it will leave this creature not only unable to take any information back to the Routers, she will probably be unable to even remember that they exist._

A moment of self-doubt crossed her mind as she wondered whether it was not rather cruel to wipe out the memory of a person in that manner, but she brushed it aside. _One has to be pragmatic in these things, _she thought. _I can't afford to be nice. Besides, it might be all for the better. _

Her hand trembling, she held out her wand. She felt the front of the Invisibility Cloak part under her hand. She was aiming right at her target – the back of Uncle George's head.

"_OBLIVIATE!" _Rose yelled, swishing the wand in a downward motion. The spell caught its victim squarely in the small of the back and Rose smiled with satisfaction as she saw the fake George fall forward into the snow. Obviously the full force of the spell had caused something similar to a concussion. She raced over to the fallen body, mindless of the Invisibility Cloak having slipped off her.

Rose wasn't sure exactly what to expect. She'd executed the spell well enough, she was sure of that. Performing a brute force memory charm was a lot easier than trying to do the more surgical memory modifications that they tried to learn in the classroom. You just had to focus all your magical energy into the spell and aim. She supposed Scorpius and probably even Martin could do their memory charms with a lot more precision, but that wasn't what she had been trying for anyway.

She knelt by the fallen body and with a little effort managed to push it over on its back. Inside the thick winter coat, she could feel that she was no longer dealing with Uncle George's rotund body. The person she had turned over was a much lighter weight, and Rose guessed that the morph had worn off with the loss of consciousness. _So let's see what you really look like,_ she said as she brushed the flecks of snow off her victim's face with her handkerchief.

Rose couldn't hold back a little gasp as she looked upon the visage looking up at her from the snow. The woman wasn't just beautiful – she was breathtaking. Rose, not being privy to Scorpius' assessment of her own physical attractions had nonetheless always considered herself fairly pretty. On seeing the youthful, fair-complexioned, sharp-featured woman before her, she wondered whether she might not need to change the scale of reference a bit. The colour seemed to be returning to the cheeks and Rose thought she detected a flicker a movement in her eyes. Sure enough, a few seconds later Rose was treated to the sight of seeing the woman struggle to a squatting position, holding her head in her hands with a pained expression – the surest signs of a successful memory charm.

Rose got back on her feet. She held her wand behind her back, hand firmly grasped around it, waiting for any sign of danger. For some reason though, Rose didn't feel threatened. Maybe it was how the woman looked – she wasn't just beautiful, Rose told herself, but it was a very _friendly _kind of beauty. She looked kind and playful – she looked like someone who might be a friend and nothing like a spy for a deranged organisation of Muggles and Squibs out to destroy the wizarding world. For a moment, the thought that she might be the victim of an Imperius curse flashed through Rose's mind.

"_Wo__ bin ich?"_ asked the woman, looking hopefully at Rose.

"I…err?" Rose hesitated.

"_Ou suis-je?"_ she said again.

Rose shook her head. Hadn't she just heard this woman speak English in the cave when she was pretending to be Uncle George? Had she forgotten how to speak as well? On the other hand what she had said didn't sound like gibberish – it sounded like a foreign language.

"Where am I?"

This time the question was pretty straightforward.

"You're in Scotland," said Rose truthfully.

She put a hand to her forehead again.

"Why am I in Scotland? Did Hernwig send me here?"

"I don't know," said Rose. "Who is Hernwig?"

"My master." The reply came accompanied by a slight groan. "No – wait, that doesn't feel right either."

"Who are you?" asked Rose. _Should she remember who she is? How bad can the effect of a complete Obliviate be?_

She cast a look at Rose that was almost playful.

"My name? Oh, you'd never be able to pronounce it right, you pretty little morsel – but I have had many names over the years. Short names, long names, loving names and derogatory names –" she clutched her head again – "what's happened to me?"

"What are you called now?"

"Can't seem to remember…I do remember Hernwig though – he used to call me Cherry."

"Well, Cherry then…who's this Hernwig?"

"More to the point – who are you?"

"I'm Lily Evans," replied Rose, lying through her teeth. "I was taking a walk when I saw you lying on the ground, face down."

"Well, Lily, Hernwig was my master – I sense that he's no longer with us. I have a new master, I can sense his mind but I cannot remember much about him or anything that's happened to me in this life."

"This life?" asked Rose, realisation beginning to dawn upon her. _Hernwig Hubstein – wasn't that the dead German's name?_ "You're Hubstein's Apsara – the Fire Nymph!"

Rose kicked herself mentally the moment she blurted that out. Cherry gave her a puzzled look.

"I suppose you're partly right – I am an Apsara and Hernwig Hubstein was my master, but I'm not his any more – I returned to the Other Realm when he died and was called again a few days ago by another man. I'm not a Fire Nymph either – that's…well that's another of us. Though how you've heard about us I can't tell. Generally people outside India and East Asia don't know much about us."

"I…read about you in one of Hubstein's books," said Rose, "Just putting two and two together."

"Well I don't know what he wrote in those things. Never got around to reading them. Can you give me a hand?"

"You said the Fire Nymph was 'another of us'? Are there more like you?" Rose asked as she helped Cherry to her feet.

"Oh yes. Speaking of Fire Nymphs, I could use one right now. Is there a place where I can get a warm fire? I'm freezing here."

Rose thought for a moment and then decided against trying to cast a Fire spell. She wasn't sure she could cast one powerful enough to last very long in the snow.

"You can make your way to the village of Hogsmeade," Rose said ingratiatingly, "where you can find a friendly inn or two. I'll walk with you – tell me more about you – and the Apsaras. How many of you are there?"

Cherry still had a hand on her forehead but she allowed herself to be led towards the path.

"A thousand and a few. But eight of us are the primary harem of the Gods."

"A harem of the Gods?"

"Yes – what DID Hernwig put in that book of his? In the Other Realm where we live, that's what we are." She paused and began to speak in a singsong voice. "_Eight are the consorts of the Gods, their pleasure and their pride, twenty-six are their companions, to while away the idle hours, eighty-four are their dancers, the finery of their courts, two hundred and seventy-four are their handmaidens, the keepers of their trust and eight hundred and ninety-two are their servants, who fulfil their every need. _It sounds a lot better in the original Sanskrit," she finished with a laugh, and then put her hand to her forehead again.

"And you are one of the eight?'

"Yes, they call me Chitralekha in that place."

"Can all of you be summoned?"

"I believe so, but it's very difficult magic. We're never told how it's done, but the call comes and we must obey it – and the caller."

"You have no free will?"

"We have to obey orders. Orders…I had orders. I'm here on orders…Our minds link to that of our masters when we are called. My master is – I see him now; I can feel him…he…"

Cherry turned suddenly to face Rose.

_Be calm, Rose,_ the girl told herself, as she tightened her grip on her wand.

"You! You're a wizard – you tampered with my memory!" Cherry's voice was accusatory.

"I did no such thing," exclaimed Rose.

"Yes! I can't remember anything from this life – it must be a memory spell. Hernwig told me about them. You couldn't touch my past memories. My master can reach me still – he's asked me to – there was a meeting – I had to – I can't remember!"

Rose almost felt sorry for Cherry as she turned an anguished face towards the ground and almost crumpled to her knees.

"You don't know what this means – I have failed. I will be punished now – oh, the bad masters can punish us for this. And the broomstick – you must have taken that too. It was valuable, my master will torture me!"

"Look, I didn't mean…" began Rose, stepping forwards, in a sympathetic tone. She didn't get to complete the sentence, as Cherry lunged at her and brought her down to the ground in a single movement. Rose felt the other woman's weight on her and tried to point her wand, but her wrist was being held in a vice-like grip.

"Want to know more about us? Curious girl, aren't you?" Cherry was speaking, her mouth uncomfortably close to Rose's ear, "Well, let me tell you a little more, Miss Evans. We don't like being played for fools. Oh, you poor, pretty girl…you messed with the wrong creature." Rose caught her breath as she felt the weight on her chest increase. She could vaguely feel the wand was still in her hand, but the Apsara's grip was unrelenting despite Rose's struggles.

"Let me go," Rose whispered.

"Let you go? Where?" Rose winced as the Apsara's eyes locked into hers, piercing through her. "I like you, my little flower. I think I'll just stay here until I've had my way with you."

"What are you talking about?" Rose gasped. "I didn't mean any harm."

"Didn't you? A full-power memory charm isn't harmful at all, is it?" came the sarcastic reply.

"I thought you were out to destroy us!" Rose managed to scream. She felt the weight on her chest become a little lighter. The Apsara rose to a straddling position, still keeping Rose's wrist in her hand.

"There are forces in the world that you had best learn not to fight with," she said, in a softer tone, "for you might come to harm no matter how you deal with them. You're a beautiful girl, Lily. I suppose that isn't your real name?" Rose felt a hand slip into her cloak's pocket and the little monogrammed case in which she kept her drawing pencils emerged in her adversary's hands. "Rose, is it? I'm very strong, Rose. Much stronger than any man, let alone a woman. I could break your neck like breaking the stem of the flower whose name you bear. I could break the trunk of a tree with as much ease. My sisters can do other things – with fire, with water, with the air. Keep away. I don't know who my master is, or what he wants, but if he has me on his side, I don't fancy the chances of whoever he's against. He's calling me. It's urgent."

Rose felt her wrist being twisted. The pain was unbearable. Her wand fell from her grip. The pressure on her wrist relaxed, and she saw her wand being flung into the distance. A hand, surprisingly gently, ran through her brown hair even as another pressed around her neck. Rose coughed, struggled, gasped for air as the warm breath of the Apsara once again fanned her face.

"You're too beautiful to kill. Don't ever get into a place where I don't have the choice not to," were the last words she heard before the darkness closed in around her.

* * * * * * * *

"Rose?"

The voice seemed to be coming from miles away.

"You all right?"

That faraway feeling again. Who was it? She just wanted to sleep. To stay in the blackness for a while longer. It was comfortable there. The real world was cold and unfriendly.

"Rose! Wake up! You must!"

The voice brought to her mind a blurred vision of a thin, tall boy with flaxen hair and steel-grey eyes. He was handsome and witty and athletic and intelligent and everything she had ever dreamed about – and he was splashing water in her face. Her eyes sprang to life.

"Malfoy! What in Circe's name are you doing?"

"I thought you'd been offed!" he said.

"You nitwit! At least stop the water!"

"Oh yes – erm, _Finite!" _he said, and his wand stopped spouting.

She rose, still spluttering.

"Where do you think you get off, Malfoy, splashing me with water?"

"Rose! You were lying unconscious in the snow in the middle of nowhere. You might have thought to thank me for rescuing you."

For a moment, she looked at him blankly. Then her thoughts began to congeal together in her head and she remembered the events of the evening.

"My wand!" she exclaimed, staggering to her feet.

"_Lumos," _said Scorpius, lighting up the surroundings. They scoured the area for a few minutes before Rose found her wand lying some twenty feet away from where she had fallen.

"Shall we go now? It's almost dinnertime."

The darkness was evidence enough that he was telling the truth.

"What about James' cloak?" she asked.

Another search followed, though since Rose remembered where she had dropped it, not much time was wasted. She noticed that Scorpius was still carrying around the old broomstick that she'd given him. _Cherry's broomstick_, she thought, and shuddered. _The one she said was very valuable. _She caught a look at the old, splintered wood and wondered what was special about it.

"NOW can we go home, Weasley?" asked Scorpius wearily.

"Yes, but how? We'd never reach in time if we walked."

"I don't suppose you'd care to fly on the broomstick with me? It's large enough for us, I think since we're both rather thin. We can fly to the Hogwarts gates in no time – it's very fast, believe me."

"And will Hagrid just let us in this late?"

"He will if you let me wear the Invisibility Cloak," said Malfoy, "If he thinks it's just you, I don't think he'll take it too seriously."

This was true. Hagrid was notoriously partial towards her and Hugo as well as to the Potter children.

"I'll get on the broom – but don't you try to lay a hand on me!"

"My dear Weasley," he said, with a touch of the Malfoy sarcasm, "I'll be sitting in front. It's you touching me that I'll have to worry about."

Rose wasn't much of a flyer, though she didn't actually fear it like her mother. She could realise that the broom she was on was a speedy one, but didn't give it much thought beyond thinking that the speed must be what had made it valuable to Cherry's master. They landed about a hundred feet from the Hogwarts gates, where Scorpius donned the Cloak and Rose took charge of the broomstick and strode up to the gates.

A few minutes wait after banging on the enormous door-knocker yielded the desired result, and Hagrid appeared to open the door.

"'Blimey, Rose! What are you doing here so late?"

"Got myself locked in the little girls' room back at the Three Broomsticks, Hagrid," said Rose, with the most innocent expression possible.

"The things you get up to! Ah your father was just the same in his day. Come on in, get running – or you'll miss dinner."

Rose didn't wait to be asked twice, and set off for the castle at a trot. Once they were far enough away, she saw Scorpius next to her and slowed down her pace.

"Here you go," he said, handing her the Cloak.

"Thanks, Scorpius," she said, "thanks for everything."

"It's all right, really. I was waiting for you at the Weasley shop for a long time and you didn't turn up so I thought I'd retrace my steps to where I'd left you. Good thing I did. What happened to you back there?"

Rose pondered for a while. It was tempting to say something to him. He wasn't her friend – though for a while it had seemed as though they might be – but he was a very powerful wizard and Rose knew she'd feel a lot better if she could confide in someone more knowledgeable than herself. She allowed a sigh to escape her. It wasn't worth thinking about. He was a Malfoy, after all.

"I can't tell you, Scorpius. I trust all was well with Uncle George?"

"Oh yes, absolutely fine. We had a nice long chat."

"That's a relief_," _she said. _I suppose the Routers contented themselves with finding some way to prevent him from receiving the summons to the meeting and left it at that. Who knows – maybe they had something planned that I prevented by obliviating Cherry, _she thought.

"Look, Weasley – Rose…you can trust me, you know. I don't like how you've been telling me to do things and giving no reasons."

"I'm not proud of it either, Scorpius. Yes, there may be something going on. I had a good reason to think Uncle George may have needed help – and I trusted you to be the one to help him."

"Why can't you trust me…always, Rose? We were friends once. We got off to a good start."

She giggled. "You mean that time that I tripped over Albus' cat and made James misfire the hex he was shooting at you on the Hogwarts Express just before our first year?"

"Yes, that," he laughed. "I must say Potter looked rather dashing with green hair the rest of the week."

"Yes, Uncle Harry still teases him about it whenever he acts a little oversmart."

"Oh yes, I met your Uncle Harry too. He dropped by to visit Mr. Weasley."

Rose stopped short in her tracks.

"When?"

"Just before I came looking for you. Mr. Potter came, we had a drink together and then he left. I waited for a while longer and then came looking for you."

"Did he say anything…well, did he say _any_thing?"

Scorpius touched his head with a slightly puzzled expression.

"Can't say I remember anything…particular. I mean, we just talked, you know. About…well I can't remember that either."

Rose felt her heart beat faster. It was just possible that Scorpius had been at the receiving end of a Memory charm as well. There was no way to be sure that she knew of.

"You're absolutely sure Uncle George is well, though?"

"As sure as I am that I lo…" he stopped with a blush.

They were at the castle door now. The light from the lamps hung outside illuminated their young faces with a red glow. For a moment, his grey eyes met her light brown ones. Then she turned away.

"It's silly, Scorpius. You know it."

"It need not be, Rose."

"It is! You know it is. You and your ridiculous gifts."

"One gift, Rose."

"One _extravagant_ gift, Scorpius."

"It was just a few spells, Rose," said Scorpius eagerly. "You just never gave me a chance to explain. I simply cast a freezing charm on some water from the lake; cast a transfiguration spell to shape it into a rose; a colouring charm for the red and green; a potion for the fragrance and another charm for the music…"

"That's exactly IT, Scorpius. It was a piece of magic beyond anything anyone of us has ever done. That rose is still there – one year on and it's still not lost its shape or colour. It's something that none of us can even think of – it's…"

"It's something you thought only your mother could do?"

Rose turned and stormed off towards the door. She had placed a hand on the latch when she turned around and answered him.

"Yes, Scorpius, it is exactly like that. And that's why I hate it. It reminds me – and Albus and James and Hugo and Martin and Elk and Lily that some of us are so damn blessed with talent that the rest of us will always be mediocre by comparison. It wasn't a romantic gift, Malfoy. It was a reminder to me how wonderful and clever you were compared to all of us."

She opened the door and stepped in, her features set in a defiant expression.

The sight of her cousin James, standing inside, his arms folded and lips curled disapprovingly, with his Prefect badge glinting, only served to harden her expression further.

**A/N: **Late update, I know. I wish work was less taxing.


	8. Disappointments

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, I would not have to work for a living. Since I do, therefore I must not own Harry Potter. Q.E.D.

**Chapter 8**

**Disappointments**

Scorpius wasn't certain how to take Rose's last remark. Extravagance didn't come naturally to him. He had grown up in a home where pennies were unfailingly pinched. When he had first shown signs of magic, he had often heard his father say that it was going to take all he could do to pay for his son's education at Hogwarts. When Scorpius had heard that there were scholarships available for students with good grades, it had been his over-riding ambition to top the year so that he would be the recipient of such a scholarship and his education could pay for itself. That was why he had worked so hard, read so much and practised so often. By the end of the year, teachers were already referring to him as the 'best student they'd had since the Granger girl', and since the 'Granger girl' had passed out from Hogwarts twenty years ago, Scorpius had considered this rather high praise.

Magic, unlike money, came easily to him. He knew his father had married his mother so as to move away from the magical world while still maintaining a pureblood connection. Yet the family history was not a secret to him, thanks to his grandmother. He knew about the noble and most ancient house of Black, the old Lairds of Malfoy Manor and about the aristocratic scions of Irish kings, the Greengrass family. His cousin Estelle, the daughter of Nigel Greengrass was in his year at Slytherin and his Aunt Daphne had married the son of the Italian minister for magic. His father avoided meeting relatives – "Such few as we have left, my boy," Draco Malfoy used to tell his son, "are either as crazy as your grandfather or won't acknowledge us in public."

So when he found himself able to do things with his wand that his elders could not, he never thought twice about being generous in expending that ability. Scorpius enjoyed helping his friends with their homework. He often worked on using the various branches of magic together to craft new things. He'd been particularly proud of the rose he'd gifted to the girl he adored. He remembered gathering all the courage he could find in his heart (which, as this story has recorded already, wasn't a whole lot) and walking over to the Gryffindor table on the morning of Valentine's Day the previous year. She had been sitting between Albus Potter and Elk Moose and opposite James Potter. Martin Lovegood, the Ravenclaw who Scorpius in his pessimistic moments considered his rival for Rose's affections was nowhere in sight and he had taken this as a particularly good sign.

"I say," he had said softly with a gulp. No one seemed to have heard, because James was opening one of the two dozen or so heart-shaped cards that had been delivered to him and it was making a sound like a banshee in heat. He tapped Rose's shoulder hesitantly. She didn't seem to notice. He did it again. Unfortunately this was just the moment when Elk Moose was trying to reach across Rose for the butter and instead of tapping Rose's shoulder he had tapped Elk's head.

"Oh hullo, Malfoy. What're you doing here?" the gigantic Moose had greeted him cheerily.

Like wretched jacks-in-the-box, the Potter brothers had dropped whatever they were doing to look at him. His hopes of discreetly asking Rose to spare him a few moments were gone.

"I was…um…wondering if I could speak to Rose for a few…"

"Sod off, Malfoy," drawled James with a lazy flick of his hands.

"No, I mean to talk to her and I will," Scorpius had replied.

"When will you ever learn?" retorted Albus. "Now get out of here before we forget that we shouldn't be hexing fellow-students over breakfast."

"I'd get you before you could start thinking about what spell to use," said Scorpius dismissively. "Rose, would you…"

"What is it you want to say, Scorpius?" Rose had asked in a not-unkind tone.

"It's nothing really, Rose, just that – well, it's Valentine's Day and…"

"MALFOY!" James roared, getting to his feet with a start and upsetting a platter of omelette in the process. "How dare you address our sister like that?"

"She's your cousin, Potter, not your sister," he had replied firmly, "and I've always been very respectful towards her."

"Go away before I actually do something!" Albus had gotten to his feet and was holding his wand in his hand, too.

"Listen, guys – cool down." Moose seemed to be the only voice of reason. "Malfoy, say whatever it is you want to say here in front of us and if it's respectful, as you say, I'm sure James and Albus won't get in your way. Sit down, old chaps."

The Potter brothers sat, albeit reluctantly. Scorpius closed his eyes. This was never how he had imagined this scene would go. He was to have asked Rose to join him for a walk in the grounds, to have led up to this and finally presented her with his labour of love. Instead he found himself in the middle of the Great Hall, with at least a dozen eyes goggling at him. Still, he didn't seem to have a choice in the matter.

He had practised this Summoning charm a hundred times. He held out his right hand, half closed into a fist and muttered, "_Accio _Ice Rose" under his breath. Sure enough, the rose materialised in his hands, beautiful, shapely and perfect just like the Rose he was going to give it to. Its petals were a deep shade of red, the stem and the two leaves Irish green, with a few drops of water frozen on them to resemble dew. The gasps he heard around him were sufficient reassurance that it was as striking a gift as he had hoped it would be. He allowed himself a small smile of self-satisfaction.

Then he looked from the rose in his hand to the one before him and his smile vanished. If he had ever wondered what the expression 'with a face as black as thunder' actually meant, he certainly had the answer before him. He held the gift out towards her, hands trembling. She didn't make a move. He looked around. Albus was looking at the gift open-mouthed, as was Elk. Hugo, Rose's pesky little brother had also turned up from somewhere and was casting an appraising eye at it. It was James who finally broke the ice.

"What do you mean by giving this to her, Malfoy? You'd better explain yourself," he had said in the voice of a person trying very hard to restrain his anger.

"It's a gift," Scorpius had replied weakly.

The Potter boy had stepped onto and over the table and now stood confronting Scorpius.

"This is a very expensive gift, isn't it Malfoy?"

"No, it isn't. I swear it isn't – it's just water from the…"

"It costs five hundred galleons at Swishkins & Swartlot's in Diagon Alley," Hugo Weasley, the uber-capitalist, had provided his two knuts worth.

"If you think you can win over our sister – yes, that's exactly what we consider her – by giving her extravagant gifts and then guilt-tripping her into God-knows-what…"

"But…"

"Shut up, Malfoy. Just – just get lost, would you?"

"I will not," he had replied, standing his ground, "I've made this myself, it's for Rose and I mean to give it to her." He sidestepped past James and walked over to her. "This is for you." He watched as she took it from him in a daze and held it limply in her hand.

"Don't accept it, Rose," James had said. "He will expect you to do him favours if you do!"

"I'm not asking for any favours, you pompous bastard!" Scorpius had said in a raised voice, drawing his wand from his cloak.

"Stand back, Albus, I'm letting him have it this time!" James almost shouted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Scorpius had noticed Professors Longbottom and Nott advancing from the teacher's table towards where they were standing.

"You couldn't hit me with a barge pole, Potter," Scorpius had reverted to his sarcastic tone.

James raised his wand, but before he could cast a spell, Rose had stepped between him and Scorpius.

"Back off, James! Scorpius, I can't accept this. It's too expensive."

"I haven't bought it for five hundred galleons or any such thing, Rose. I made it myself with a few easy spells."

He remembered she had seemed to take a deep breath on hearing this.

"You'd better go away, Scorpius. Whatever it is you're trying to prove, I'm not interested. Please don't talk of this again. In fact it would be better if you never spoke to me again."

Around that moment, he had felt a firm hand on his shoulder as Professor Nott had led him off to his office and assigned him a week's detention for provoking a fight in the Great Hall. He later found out that Professor Longbottom had given the Potter boys a month of the same. He had no idea whether she had even kept the gift – until this evening.

He hadn't spoken to Rose till Easter and even after that their interaction had been limited to a few sniping comments and the occasional jibe. That was, of course, until today.

Scorpius wasn't sure whether to be happy or sad about the way things had panned out. On one hand, it had been a wonderful evening – after nearly a year, he had got to spend some time with Rose. On the other, it had been a puzzling sort of evening, and he had felt himself lurching from one place and one situation to another. When he had found James' Invisibility Cloak in the Astronomy Tower, the only reason he had actually gone there was because he had seen Martin Lovegood sneaking around in the corridor and had suspected that he was going to rendezvous with Rose. Following him, he had found that Martin had only being going to the Astronomy Tower to retrieve some charts he had forgotten there. However, they had both got a little more than they had bargained for when Martin discovered James Potter _in flagrante delicto _with a Hufflepuff girl. In the fracas that ensued, James had tried to curse Martin, who had deflected the spell at the girl. James and Martin had continued duelling down the stairs leaving a purple-coloured and very shocked teenage girl languishing in the tower. Scorpius had tripped over the Invisibility Cloak as he tried to make a stealthy escape and ended up dragging it with his feet the better part of his way towards the Slytherin rooms.

From there to standing without the Hogwarts school door, looking at Rose and James staring at each other and knowing that things were likely to get uglier, Scorpius definitely felt that he had been through quite a lot.

* * * * * *

"Can I help you, James?" Rose asked. Scorpius thought he detected a touch of impatience in her voice.

"You're late!" James replied.

"I know. Still, it's a Hogsmeade weekend. Aren't we traditionally a little lax?"

"I don't see any reason to be lax when you've been out gallivanting with that…that Malfoy!"

Scorpius allowed himself a small smile and entered.

"It's not what you think, James…"

"You stay out of this, you snake."

"James, I wasn't gallivanting or anything of the sort. In fact, Scorpius here has been very helpful."

It clearly wasn't the right note to strike.

"Helping you, is it? With what, I might ask?"

"None of your damn business, James," replied Rose, colouring. "Now let me pass."

"You look here, young Rose…"

"Stop _patronising_ me, James," Rose almost screamed.

"I'm not being patronising – I'm just looking out for you. You're entirely too independent and you spend too much of your time hanging around with boys."

"One of whom is your _brother_, James. And you're not one to talk much about the kind of company you keep."

"At least I don't stagger late back to school with a death-eater's son."

"Stop right there, Potter." Scorpius strode up to his adversary. "There's no need to drag my father into this."

"You should've thought of that before you dragged my father's niece into your twisted little life."

"Stop it, James. You're being a prick."

"Stay out of it, Rose. I'm still dealing with this louse here."

The next moment James was thrown off his balance as a stunner hit him squarely on the chest. Scorpius looked around in wonder at Rose, who was looking a little stunned herself.

"Should I be thanking you?" he asked, in a polite voice.

Rose shook her head. Her cousin was struggling to his feet before her.

"I suppose I'll be leaving you two to sort this out," went on Scorpius, "don't want me intruding in this little sibling reunion, I'm sure."

Rose also began to walk slowly away towards the Great Hall.

"Yes, I think that would be best. Get up, James – don't pretend it hurts or anything, I know it doesn't."

"I'm giving you detention, young lady!" roared her cousin.

"Shut up, James. Prefects can't give detention. You can report me to Professor Longbottom if you like. I doubt he'll find me guilty of any rule-breaking, seeing as how you can't prove that I have broken any school rules."

"I can certainly give you an imposition, though. Two chapters from Ancient Runes! _And _I'm writing to your parents tonight!"

"Fine. Go ahead. I can't stop you. I'll submit the lines to you tomorrow morning," she replied, and then, turning to Scorpius who had almost disappeared into the corridor that led to the Slytherin dungeons, added, "Oh by the way, Scorpius – do tell Estelle that I'd love to meet her by the lake tomorrow for tea and a game of chess. It's been a while since I beat her."

The blond boy only smiled in return, but if he didn't say anything, it was only because he was too happy for mere words.

* * * * * *

It would have been an exaggeration to say that Scorpius woke up bright and cheerful the next day – firewhiskey and having a memory modified tends to lead to a slightly heavy head even in the best of men. Nonetheless, by the time he had showered and descended to breakfast, he was feeling distinctly chirpy. In fact, when he encountered his cousin Estelle, a round-cheeked, pleasant-faced girl with brown hair and spectacles at the Slytherin table, he actually went so far as to say,

"What ho what ho what ho, old girl! Isn't it a lovely morning? The lark is on the thorn, the snail is on the something or the other and all's well with the world!"

"Gone off your rocker finally, o cousin of mine?" asked Estelle, her gaze not budging from the morning's _Daily Prophet_. "You do realise that it's a dashed sight cold and that we have double potions to begin the day with."

"Ah yes, there's that. But on the other hand, you have something to look forward to. Rose Weasley" - and here Scorpius did try his level best not to say her name in a fawning way – "has invited you to catch up with her for tea and a game of chess in the evening."

This time Estelle did look up from her newspaper.

"Has she now? And are you going to be a part of the proceedings as well?"

"I might inadvertently drop by," the boy nodded as he poured some milk into his glass.

"And what am I? A third wheel?"

"Oh come now, Estelle! You and Rose get along pretty well _and _you're both ruddy good chess players too. What's so odd about being called to play a friendly game?"

"For one thing, _you're_ the messenger. For another, Rose and I will most likely face off in the house competitions next month." The girl shook her head and sighed, "Still, can't turn down a challenge I suppose. I'll send her a note."

Scorpius nodded approvingly as his cousin scribbled a note and commandeered a passing first-year to carry it to the Gryffindor table. Things were definitely going his way.

Potions took up the whole morning, with Professor Nott seeming particularly pleasant. In fact everyone seemed particularly pleasant, even that normally insufferable Martin Lovegood (The Ravenclaws shared the class with the Slytherins).

At lunch he had the pleasure of catching James' eye and watching the beastly Potter boy give him a glare. Scorpius didn't fear James, but nonetheless he stuck close to Estelle that day. His cousin was a no-nonsense type of girl and could generally be relied on to prevent any excessively untoward happenings.

The class after lunch was Herbology, which the Slytherins shared with the Gryffindors, and Scorpius was particularly looking forward to it. He had a vague notion that if he played his cards right, he could walk with Rose to the lake and thus insert himself into the proceedings _ab initio_, as it were.

Once in class, things went on as they usually did. Professor Longbottom gave a lecture on the importance of the _Circulous Ferntonian _which had the interesting property of emitting cool air as the temperature around it rose, which made it very popular in tropical climes. Rose managed to catch hold of Estelle and confirm the invitation that Scorpius had issued, which he duly noted.

At the end of the class, Professor Longbottom closed by giving them a two foot essay to write and asking Rose and Albus to stay back after class. Scorpius walked out of the Greenhouse and loitered behind the rest of the students, hoping to catch hold of Rose as she left.

His hopes weren't belied. Rose and Albus did emerge barely five minutes later. Albus ignored him and walked on, but Rose stopped to talk to him.

"Hey, Scorpius, wait up!" she called out.

He waited up, only too glad to do so.

"Would you apologise to Estelle on my behalf? The plan for this evening's off."

"Off?"

"Yes, off. Uncl – I mean, Professor Longbottom just told us that Ms. Patil, one of my Mum's oldest friends is in town and wants to meet us today evening. You must've heard of her – she's a model and stuff. So anyway, that means this evening is just not possible – can't turn down a Professor's invitation. You do understand, don't you, Scorpius?"

"What about tomorrow? Or later this week?"

"Well, I don't know. There's a lot of homework too these days. And James will probably find ways and means to give me more lines if he can. I'll send a note to Estelle when I have the time. Ok?"

"I guess," he replied. He waved as she bounced off towards the castle, presumably to get ready for the evening.

Scorpius followed her at a slower pace, slouching considerably. The day had gone from being wonderful to very bitterly disappointing in a matter of seconds. The euphoric sentiment that had sustained him through the day having evaporated, he suddenly felt very hungry. There was usually food to be had in the Hall at this time, so he headed there, only to find that he was rather early. James Potter and a dark kid who Scorpius didn't know by name were sitting at the Gryffindor table, ostensibly studying. He had just about turned to leave to return to his common room when the sound of his name being called by Potter grated upon his ears. Scorpius turned.

"Yes, Potter?"

"I say, Malfoy, I was wondering if you'd care to join me for a Wizard's Duel sometime? I'm not in a particular hurry, so you can name your place and time, but I do think I need to teach you a lesson."

Scorpius hesitated. He was usually ready with a sarcastic reply for the remarks and threats that the Potters threw at him and even had answers for the occasional hexes that they tried to shoot in his direction, but a direct duel was another matter. For one thing, Scorpius was not a dueller. He knew he was a very accomplished Wizard for his age and all that, but he hadn't ever used his magic in a straight combat situation. James, on the other hand, was a crack fighter and the President of the school's Duelling Club. For a moment Scorpius thought of refusing the challenge, but then he considered what rumour, aided by the Potter Propaganda Machine would do to his reputation, and took a decision.

"Very well, Potter. Some people will look askance at your challenging someone a year younger than you to a duel, but it's in keeping with your bullying persona, after all. I'll owl you when I get myself a second," he said, and strode out of the Hall.

Scorpius didn't stop until he had reached the Slytherin common room, which was unfortunate, because if he'd been a little more observant, he'd have seen Estelle engaged in a passionate kiss with Martin Lovegood in the corridor opposite the kitchens.

He did meet his cousin a little later when she arrived in the common room.

"Don't bother getting ready for that match with Weasley, Estelle," he said. "She's called it off, and I've managed to get myself into a duel."

"A duel? Who with?"

"James Potter."

"James Potter? You're as dead as a fish on a marble slab."

"Thanks for the encouragement, cuz. Will you be my second?"

"Sure."

"Thanks!"

"One of those days, huh, kid?" Estelle said, ruffling his hair affectionately, "Lose a date and get called into a duel with the best duellist in Hogwarts at the same time."

"No one said it's easy being Scorpius Malfoy," he said, managing a grin, "I just wish someone had told me it would be this hard."


	9. Gifts

If I owned the Harry Potter franchise, I'd be writing this from a villa off the Mediterranean coast. Since I'm actually writing from tiny apartment in the suburbs, I must not own Harry Potter. Q.E.D.

**Chapter 9**

**Gifts**

Rose awoke as she usually did – being licked in the face by her room-mate Yuki's Persian cat. With a scowl of disgust, she whacked the creature on its nose and struggled to her feet. For some reason completely unfathomable to Rose, the cat had taken a great liking to her and seemed to cling to her whenever she was in sight.

She staggered towards the shower. When she finally emerged (though not before Melinda, another of the girls with whom she shared the dormitory, had banged on the door and accused her of 'hogging the ruddy washroom like it belonged to her father') she was feeling considerably refreshed. Rose then headed down the stairs towards the Gryffindor common room, which appeared, at first glance, to be deserted. As it turned out, it was not – there was a mirror in the corner just under the staircase that led to the fifth-year boy's dormitories, and Albus Severus Potter stood facing it, trying out various poses in an enormous top hat.

Not unused to her cousin's penchant for making ludicrous fashion statements, Rose calmly settled into a chair and summoned her writing materials. '_James' silly imposition needs to be done, I guess_,' she told herself and sat down to work. A few minutes later, Albus appeared to realise he was not alone and hopped over to where she was sitting, the hat now jauntily positioned at a slant on the left side of his head.

"'Morning!" he said.

"Good morning, Albus," Rose replied, without glancing up to look at him.

"What I was doing just now…"

"You were checking how pretty you looked, isn't it?"

"No, I mean I know that's what it might have looked like to a casual observer, but I really think this hat becomes me, don't you?"

This time Rose did look up.

"Al, you look perfectly foul! If you have a single aesthetic bone in your body, you will desist from wearing that lid."

"Tchah!"

"What?"

"Tchah! I think you're just jealous that I draw attention away from you!"

She rolled her eyes.

"Al, I don't think we're competing for the same fan-base."

"Aren't you bi?"

"Of course not!" she said in exasperation, putting her quill down. "What on earth gave you that impression?"

"Well, you don't have a boyfriend, do you?"

"I might have had one by now if you and James had not acted like insanely protective brothers around me. Why can't you be like Hugo? He actually IS my brother and he lets me be."

"That's because Hugo runs a massive and profitable betting syndicate and doesn't have time to keep tabs on you – which is all the more reason I feel the need to look out for you. Now look here, Rosie! We don't like the wrong sort of chap hanging around you, but we'd all really appreciate it if you settled down with a nice fellow. People speculate, y'know. Especially about you and Yuki."

"James thinks I'm a slut and you think I'm in a lesbian relationship with Yuki? You're both mental. Besides, aren't you in love with Yuki yourself?"

"What? Hell, no. She's not my type at all. She's almost ugly, if you ask me."

"I think she's terribly pretty. Now if you really want to help me, Al, you can do these lines for me. I've been given an imposition."

"Sure," he said agreeably, "but what about the handwriting?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry much about it. Did you ever write to James when he was in his first year?"

"Eh?" asked Albus, getting to work. "No, never. Guys don't do that letter-writing sort of thing to each other much, y'know. I occasionally had Mum or Dad insert a line for me."

"Good," said Rose, in a dreamy voice, cozying up into the chair, "wake me up when it's time go for breakfast, would you?"

Breakfast was something of a holy ritual for Rose, who never felt like the day had quite started until she had at least a slice of ham and bread inside her system. So it was but natural that she felt a lot better once she had feasted on the substantial spread that Hogwarts always managed to provide. It also gave her time to ponder on the previous day's events. She had spent the last night rather dazed by everything. The first lesson of the day for the Gryffindors was History of Magic, a reliably sleep-inducing session which Rose spent drawing faces in her textbook. Every academic year began with a happy rumour that Professor Binns was to be replaced, but that had not happened yet, so the somnambulistic ghost rambled on while the class (with the sole exception of Albus Potter, who was still wearing the top hat rather precariously balanced on his head) dozed off peacefully.

Rose drew her father on the last page of the book - goofy grin, still retaining most of his hair and still cutting a trim figure, then her mother - imposing though slight, then her Uncle Harry - friendly face, lightning-shaped scar and unruly hair. Then it was the various Weasley uncles – Percy, Bill, Charlie and George. From that to drawing Cherry was almost a natural transition for Rose as she tried to delineate the fine features of the creature that had almost killed her barely over twelve hours ago. The burden of knowing what she knew was beginning to tell on Rose. She felt like she had to tell someone, to say it out loud to someone, if nothing else. James seemed the most obvious choice. Of all the people she knew, James was probably the one she had looked up to most as a child. Growing up, Rose had always regarded James as a sort of hero – he was handsome, talented and unlike her, had always lived up to being the son of Harry Potter. James wasn't the sort of magical genius that Scorpius was – Rose doubted that her cousin put as much thought into magical theory and experimentation as the Malfoy boy did – but he was a powerful wizard and unmatched as a duellist. On the other hand, Rose and James had steadily grown apart over the last year-and-a-half. Rose wouldn't have called herself prim or conservative, but there was no doubt that James' tendency to get into the pants of anyone that had two legs and a pair of breasts disgusted her. To make matters worse, he had acquired a patronising tone in his dealings with her that she resented.

On the other hand, she and Albus had always been the best of friends. Growing up together, and being almost the same age, Rose and Albus were very close indeed. They shared the same insecurities – Rose was afraid of never being able to live up to her mother and Albus of growing in the shadow of his brother – and similar aspirations. Rose saw herself as an artist who played good chess. Albus' ambition in life was to become a fashion designer who played Quidditch. Rose was the best chess player in Hogwarts, having beaten Estelle Greengrass in the Cup finals for two consecutive years and Albus was the Gryffindor seeker. '_We both take after our fathers when it comes to sports at least', _Rose smiled to herself.

She caught up with him as they left class, grabbing his attention by knocking the hat off his head.

"Need to talk to you, Al," she said, ignoring his indignant cursing as he dusted the hat.

"What the hell about?" asked her cousin crossly.

"Not here. Some place private. Come down to the grounds."

"Ooh! Are you going to tell me all about you and Yuki?"

"For heaven's sake, Al, just because she's the most-desired girl in school does not mean _I _am in love with her as well!"

"The most-desired woman in school has always been a Weasley, at least ever since Victoire grew breasts," he responded, "so regardless of your smouldering passion for Yuki, you must accept that she's not the prettiest girl here."

"Stop drivelling. Anyway, are you coming or not?"

"Yes, yes. Of course. Only if you promise not to touch my hat."

"All said and done, I wouldn't want to touch that foul thing with a barge pole. Now come on."

They walked out of the school grounds in silence. There weren't any lessons till after lunch, which meant she would have time to go over the events of the past day in some detail. Eventually the stopped near the greenhouses where there was a secluded alcove in which Rose strongly suspected James often brought his paramours. Rose went over the events of the last evening, eventually finishing with the story of how she had hexed James, leaving out only the parts where Scorpius and she had spoken about his feelings for her.

"Hmm. Well, so what do you plan to do now?" asked Albus.

"What do I plan to do? That's exactly what I don't know – which is why I'm telling you all this."

"Me?"

"Yes, I'm referring the matter to a superior intelligence for guidance."

"You ass! If you want a superior intelligence, you refer to your brother Hugo, not me!"

"Hugo's a kid!"

"Hugo's a kid who runs a multi-county crime syndicate. He's the man to go to."

"What on earth is he up to nowadays?"

"Your brother is a Napoleon of crime, Rose. In a school of bumbling amateurs, he's a Professor Moriarty. I suggest we go meet him immediately."

"You mean I have to repeat all this again to Hugo?"

"Yes. In his office. He's set up an office a few days ago in an abandoned classroom.

"I'm not going to do any such thing!"

An hour later, however, that was precisely what she found herself doing, as Albus chewed the edges of his hat absent-mindedly, and her brother listened with a keen ear.

Hugo Weasley was a lad of about thirteen summers, but he looked older than that. Perhaps it was his height – he was tall even for a Weasley. Perhaps it was the way he wore his hair – slicked back in a style reminiscent of the Italian mafia. Or maybe it was just his singularly unprepossessing appearance. The point was widely debated but never quite resolved. The 'office' from which he operated was an unused classroom, spilling over with manuscripts and notebooks in which she assumed her brother maintained the records of his extensive bookie business.

"So, if I get this right, squirt," said Hugo, "You've uncovered a vast right-wing conspiracy to bring down the Wizarding world?"

"What does the right-wing have to do with it? Does the Wizarding World even _have _a right-wing?" asked Rose, a frustrated note creeping into her voice. The uniform quirkiness displayed by her brothers occassionally did get on her nerves.

"Everything is a right-wing conspiracy," he shot back. "Even the Routers. Now what should we do?"

"My first order of priority would be to check on Uncle George's well-being," put in Albus, shaking out of his hat-chewing stupor.

"Well, I can tell you that he's all right," said Hugo. "Spoke to him by Floo this morning. He had some bets to place and winnings to collect.I don't think anyone but the real George Weasley would know about those dealings."

"That's a relief. But I still think there was there's something we're missing," Rose said.

Hugo cast a keen glance at Rose.

"What did the shape-shifting woman say before she left you? That her master was in trouble? Let's try to piece things together. You say that it appeared Scorpius has had a memory wipe. Let's assume that is true. You had sent Scorpius to check on Uncle G. Something happened there that led to Scorpius having a memory charm cast on him but without harming either him or our beloved Uncle. I'm guessing that he did go to the Weasley shop in Hogsmeade. It's possible that he found Uncle G there – perhaps held captive by the chap who must be Cherry's master. Somehow Scorpius managed to overpower this fellow – who, if we have to go by the story told by the late Professor Snape, must be non-magical – and had him at his mercy. Now due to the telepathic link that appears to link the Apsara and her master, he was able to communicate his plight to her and that would have brought her to Hogsmeade after putting you out of action. My guess is that she's essentially not bloodthirsty, so she contented herself with erasing memories and presumably getting her master to safety."

"You need to be a Wizard to do a memory charm," pointed out Albus.

"From what we know about these chaps, they would have used a potion. I can think of at least a couple of potions that can do the job, and Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes would have the required ingredients in their storeroom."

"So we're fortunate that the instruments these Routers are using appear to be Gandhian pacifists as them?"

"Yes, we are. But only as long as they haven't been instructed to be. And for all you know, Cherry might be an exception."

"Well, so we have a fair idea of what's happened so far," said Albus. "The question is – what next?"

Hugo knitted his brows.

"It depends. Let's look at what we know. How many of these Apsaras did you say exist, Rose?"

"An enormous number, apparently, but there are eight 'Prime Apsaras', so to speak."

"And we can be reasonably sure that the woman wasn't lying?"

"I don't think she was. She hadn't even quite realised where she was at that point of time."

"So the question now is – how many have the Routers summoned? And what powers do they have?" said Hugo.

"That means research…"

"Yep, research. We'll have to comb the Hogwarts library. Look up anything you can find about Eastern magic. Hubstein's books might be a good starting point. He would have cited source references in the original Sanskrit which might also be available."

"That's all very well, Hugo, but I don't know how to read Sanskrit," Rose said.

"Not you, silly. We want someone halfway competent. Martin Lovegood should be able to pitch in, can't he?"

"Martin? Oh yes, yes. He can. He topped Ancient Runes last year," said Albus vaguely. "Fellow can read Sanskrit faster than some of the chaps here can read English."

"Then that's settled. As soon as we find out more about what we're facing, I'll think of some way to get the information out to the guv'nor."

"How?"

"Leave that to me. In fact, I think the Routers' attention is off Dad and Uncle Harry for the moment."

"How do you figure that?" asked Rose.

"Because, my dear mutton-headed sister, they will now be after you. There's probably an order out to eliminate you and the wards around Hogwarts might be the only thing keeping you safe. Still, trust nobody. You never know when this Cherry could pretend to be a Professor or something and sneak in. The only thing I can think of is never leaving you alone. Albus – do you get me? Talk to a couple of people you trust – Elk and Martin should be up for the job. Rose must have at least a couple of us with her at all times."

"I do NOT think that's a good idea," said Rose, appalled.

"Don't care what you think. You can't sleep in your dorm anymore either. Never know who will be pretending to be a Gryff girl."

"Where will I sleep then? Hugo, you're totally over-reacting!"

"No I'm not. Albus agrees with me, doesn't he? You can sleep here. Sneak out of the common room around ten and make your way. The password is _'Don Corleone'._I've got wards up to prevent anyone getting in without my knowing about it."

Albus nodded in a dazed sort of way. Hugo often had that effect on his cousins.

"Well, fine – I'll even do that," conceded Rose, spotting an opportunity, "but then you have to agree not to go ballistic about the fact that I'm meeting Scorpius and Estelle today evening. He was very helpful yesterday – and I think you chaps have him all wrong, and…"

"Say no more, sister," said Hugo, raising a hand, "we will pretend we don't know a thing. Yes, Albus, you too."

Rose felt quite pleased with her brother and wondered if he had actually got past his petty prejudices. This sense of goodwill continued until later that day, when when Professor Longbottom told her about the tea-party planned for that evening, when she realised that Hugo would have had Herbology in the morning and would already have been aware that she would have to cancel the date.

She wasn't sure whether she was disappointed or relieved that she would not be meeting Scorpius. A part of her flinched from facing him. She had promised to do so in what was undeniably a 'gesture' aimed at ticking off James. But whether she felt up to it was another matter – she could no longer deny to herself that she was attracted to him, but she couldn't escape the slight cringing feeling that came with being a Weasley interacting with a Malfoy.

The rest of the day went by in a bit of a daze. Hugo and Albus took turns being by her side, which she found a little irritating.

Rose wasn't a particular fan of the dressing-up game, but she knew her way around a make-up kit. A half-hour after she had given a short shrift to Scorpius' hopes and dreams, she found herself making her way to Neville Longbottom's living quarters, a comfortable set of rooms on the first floor of the castle, a couple of short staircases away from his beloved greenhouses.

Rose was not the first to arrive – Martin was already there and Hugo had accompanied her in. The table was set, and Hannah Longbottom welcomed her with a wide smile. Rose sat on a chair by the window and smiled as biscuits were handed around. A few minutes later, Lily Potter, the beautiful but vacuum-headed sibling of Albus and James joined them.

"What ho, Lily," said Hugo graciously. "How does the land lie in the land of the lying liars?"

"Oh Hugo, don't be silly. You talk such absolute nonsense!"

Considering his contribution to "humouring the special child" to have been fulfilled, Hugo turned back to Martin to discuss the prospects of the Wimbourne Wasps against the Chudley Cannons in their forthcoming match and to try to induce him to place a bet on the outcome.

Rose stifled a yawn. Formal meals were not her forte. The evening dragged on as more people joined. Miss Patil came after the rest of them, inducing Neville to crack a joke about how models could never resist being fashionably late. Then followed the inevitable round of reminisces about her parents and uncles and the rest of the generation of the last war. Rose's interest in the proceedings flickered briefly to life when Parvati began talking about how her mother had walked out of a Divination class in her third year – a detail that Hermoine Weasley had rather conveniently forgotten to mention to her daughter. But then the conversation moved back to how wonderful things had been in the old days and Rose drifted off again.

"I say, old girl," Albus whispered, when they had an opportunity to get away from the crowd for a bit, "I've been going through Hubstein's books – the library has a complete collection - and the sources he cites are also available with us. I didn't get the time to read anything in detail, but hopefully, once this is over we'll all go to the library and scope things out together."

"Sounds fine. You'll need to get a permission slip from Uncle Neville."

"Leave that to me. I've spoken to Hugo as well. I think we can manage this. Once we know enough about Apsaras to get a clue about how to go about defeating these Routers, we can tell Dad…"

"Just don't mention that I had anything to do with it."

"I don't see why you're so reluctant to…"

"You wouldn't understand, Al," replied Rose, shaking her head.

They drifted off in separate directions again, Rose to confer with Hugo and Martin and Albus to convince Lily that it wasn't a good idea to ask Parvati whether she wasn't married because she didn't have children or the other way round.

It was closing on seven when Parvati got down to the 'business end' of the evening, as Hugo put it.

"Well, it's been so long since I've seen any of you that I really wouldn't have known what to get you, but luckily your parents have been diligent letter-writers and I hope you'll like these. James – your father keeps saying you've been badgering him for a Scorch 2010?"

James looked at her dumbstruck as she smilingly handed him a piece of parchment.

"It's a receipt – the broom should be delivered by tomorrow."

"I…I…Dad's gonna give you an earful for spoiling us, you know!" he said finally.

"I think I can handle your Dad," she replied.

Rose watched with half-hearted interest as Lily got a make-up kit and Hugo an abacus. Martin also got a Scorch 2010 to match James'. Albus got a subscription to _Faustian Fashion, _the leading Wizarding Fashion magazine. When it was Rose's turn, she found herself laden with what looked like an enormous colouring-book.

"I'm sorry about the size," said Parvati apologetically, "but that book is immune to any shrinking spells I can throw at it."

"Well…err…I'm sure that won't be a problem," said Rose, almost keeling over. Albus stepped in and propped her up at the shoulder.

"It's been in the family for generations but honestly none of us was ever any good at painting. It's an pretty ancient Indian text; the pictures in it are drawn by some of our truly legendary artists. Dad used to tell me the names when I was growing up. Unfortunately I can't even read the Sanskrit. You'll love the style."

Rose tottered over to table with Albus' assistance, and laid the tome open. It was an old book, no doubt – the pages were yellowed around the edges, but the parchment was sturdy and thick. Each page had text on one side, in a script similar to the one in the book Snape had shown her mother and on the other, what was probably an illustration to the story. They were prints – lithographs, Rose thought. There was no doubt about the quality of the artwork – the style was similar to European renaissance style though with enough points of difference to be noticable, particuarly in the use of lines and slightly stylised depiction of animals.

"It's wonderful," she said truthfully.

The stroke of ten found Rose, alongwith Albus, Martin and Hugo, in the restricted section in the library, where they had headed directly from the party. She and Hugo were hunting for books that might bear even the remotest allusion to Oriental summoning magic, while Martin and Albus were combing through Hubstein's collected works and cross-references from them.

It wasn't going well.

"Any luck?" asked Martin eventually, putting away the book he had been reading.

"Nothing," replied Rose. "Just a bunch of obscure references here and there."

"Nothing here either. There are few mentions about Apsaras and their abilities, but he writes of them as an ancient Indian legend and nothing more," said Martin. "The only really useful stuff I could find is when he talks about the nature of their magic."

Rose sat heavily on a chair opposite Martin. Hugo, who had been standing a few meters away also came and joined them.

"He says the Apsaras are creatures of the heavens who draw their power from the earth. So the Fire nymph draws her powers from the heat at the core of the earth. Cherry the shape-shifter however would draw it from a different source – from the changing nature of human beings themselves. We are a part of the earth as much as fire and water."

"Anything more?"

"He mentions the legend about there being eight Apsaras and how seven of them came before the eighth, but that bit is rather obscure."

"Anything on how to fight against or un-summon these creatures?" asked Hugo.

It was Albus who answered, as Martin stood up and stretched his legs. "Not really. The death of the person who has summoned the creature always works, but there's no mention either of the spell used to summon the Apsara or un-summon her. As for fighting them – they are affected by magic the same way we are but any impact is limited to that particular life of the Apsara and does not leave a lasting impression, as with Rose's memory charm."

"Would an Unforgivable work?"

"There is some speculation here. I guess an _Avada Kedavra_ might work as an un-summoning. _Crucio _might work too. I'm guessing the _Imperius_ would not – the link of the Apsara to her summoner should be too strong."

"So an AK should do the trick?" asked Hugo.

"According to Hubstein, the effect is likely to be temporary. The earthly presence of the heavenly creature would be disrupted for a short period but eventually she would return," replied Albus.

"So you are saying there is no fighting them?" queried Rose.

"Well, maybe a really really powerful wizard might stand a chance. The late professor Dumbledore or Mouldy Voldy, as Peeves likes to call him," said Albus.

"What about your father or Professor Neville?" asked Rose.

"Well, let's be honest here, Dad and uncle Neville are champion duellers but the Apsaras draw on a raw, brute power that would be difficult to counter for a sustained period of time. I guess that the only sure-fire way to counter an Apsara might be with another Apsara."

"And how exactly are we going to get one to fight on our side?" asked Rose, derisively. "You think if we ask nicely, one might drop by and take up cudgels for us?"

"Well, no, that's not what I was saying," said Albus with a sigh. "They can be summoned, obviously, because we know it's been done. The damn books are silent on HOW it can be done, though. Hubstein is purposefully silent on that point. Guess the old fox wanted to keep a trick up his sleeve."

"I say, Rose," said Martin suddenly, "this book was given to you by Ms. Patil, wasn't it?"

Rose turned to see Martin poring over the book that she had received as a gift.

"Yes, it is, why?"

"Did I hear her say she couldn't read Sanskrit?"

"Yes, that's what she said."

"But she _was _at the D.A. meeting, right?"

"Yes, she was – in fact seeing her was what set off my curiosity and made me follow her and Professor Longbottom."

"Well, people don't lie when they call models dumb," said Martin, with a little chuckle. He turned the book around by ninety degrees so that it faced Rose and Albus. It opened to a story at the middle of the book, the curving script on the right-hand side quite overshadowed by the illustration on the facing page. It depicted a terrace garden in a part of what looked like a palace, surrounded by a meadow. A man dressed in what Rose could only describe as a colourful toga stood looking out of the terrace. There, apparently floating down from the skies, was drawn a woman of dazzling beauty, with jet-black hair floating behind her, while a setting sun behind the palace cast a dusky hue on her golden skin. She was dressed in next to nothing, essentially a white robe which might as well not have been there for all that it did to hide her almost exaggeratedly perfect figure – the only adornment was a few flowers in her hair. The artist in Rose was filled with a dull ache at the sheer beauty of it.

"It's a beautiful painting," she said finally, "the sort of thing I'd give my eye-teeth to be ableto even replicate, but why did you make that remark about Ms. Patil?"

Martin placed a finger over the title on the page facing the illustration.

"No one? You really should take Ancient Runes, you know. Scorpius doesn't – which means it's a level playing field for the rest of us. The title reads _'Of Urvashi and the summoning of Apsaras.' _It's a story of a King who summoned an Apsara and fell in love with her, says the summary. And here…" Martin turned the page, to show another painting, this time of a grove of fruit-bearing trees, where deer, rabbits and peacocks frolicked. The woman from the previous page was here too, this time dressed in red and green, the garments doing a marginally better job of preserving her modesty than the white robes. She sat in the centre of the grove, caressing a dove that sat in her lap. "…here we have the key to summoning her. See this – I'm translating here – 'She appeared in the grove he had made, a place of wonder and beauty and gentleness where the Apsara Urvashi, beloved of the Gods, the most perfect being in Heaven and Earth, could rest and revel in the oneness with the earth.'"

"I still don't see how it helps us," shrugged Albus, "unless you're suggesting we plant a ruddy orchard, let loose some animals in it and hope for the best."

"Well, let me read through. There's seven more stories here dedicated to Apsaras. Give me a little time, guys – I'm sure I'll have something concrete to tell by then."

"To think a member of the D.A. had this book and didn't have the brains to show it to Mom!" exclaimed Hugo.

"It's official – wonders will never cease," said Albus with a mock groan, as he sat back in his chair, "and neither will the infinite stupidity of the human race."

Rose yawned as Martin pored excitedly over the yellowing pages. It was likely to be a long night.

**A/N: **Ah, it's been a long long time. Excuses? Just a loss of desire and a feeling that I will never amount to anything. It happens.


	10. Summoning

******Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't have to work for a living. Since I do, therefore I must not own Harry Potter. Q.E.D.

**Chapter 10**

**Summoning**

Martin Lovegood was an enigma wrapped in a riddle to most people at Hogwarts. He was a sharp-featured, wiry boy with fair hair and a ready smile, but he rarely spoke much of his own accord. For the most part, he seemed more than happy to be a quiet foil to the more domineering Elk, as Rose was to her flamboyant cousin Albus. He had inherited a keen intelligence and sunny personality from his mother, Luna Scamander, _nee _Lovegood, that quirky, dreamy heroine of the last war. Who his father was, no one really knew, though Rose thought she could guess. It was something neither he nor his mother ever spoke about, and the Wizarding World largely respected that. Next to Scorpius, he was probably the smartest student in Rose's year and unlike the Malfoy boy (or Rose's perception of him), Martin was not a show-off, preferring to laugh off any references to his talents.

Rose found a smile crossing her face as she contemplated him. As so often happened when Martin got his mind around an interesting problem, he was engrossed in the book. He murmured to himself and scratched notes on a parchment as he read slowly through the large pages. Occasionally he sniffled into a tissue he had conjured, a reminder of the cold that had kept him confined the previous day.

At around eleven, Filch turned up, Mrs. Norris in tow, to shoo them out.

"We've got permission," Albus pointed out, presenting the slips that he had taken from Neville Longbottom.

"Permissions are only valid till eleven o' clock," he replied gruffly.

"Says who, may I ask?" said Albus,

"Says Argus Filch," he replied, "and that should be good enough for you. Now get out, before I march you straight to the Headmistress!"

They marched out, Martin still clutching Rose's book and a few others.

"Well, what now?" asked Rose.

"Let's head to the Gryffindor common room," suggested Albus.

"Let's head to my office," countered Hugo. "There's always a chance of there being a swot or two staying up to do an all-night studying session in the common rooms."

"Isn't there a chance of Filch catching hold of us there?" asked Albus.

"Not unless he's learnt spells to counter my concealment wards," said Martin. "Hugo had me cast them last week."

"Well, Martin's spell-casting I can trust," agreed Rose. "Lead on!"

For the second time that day, Rose found herself in Hugo's little hovel. In many ways the place felt Dickensian, with the wooden furniture, rolls of parchment and at least three layers of dust stacked on everything. Martin sat on a low chair, still muttering to himself as he translated. Albus and Hugo managed to transfigure a chair into a cricket bat and fished out a rubber ball from one of the drawers. Since the bat was rather by way of being crooked, all the shots went in the general direction of Rose, who was trying to catch a nap in a corner behind Martin.

Finally a frustrated Rose stormed over to the window and looked out into a starry night. It hadn't snowed that day, but the air was still cold and they had kept the window shut against the draft.

"Got a telescope? It's a lovely night for stargazing."

Hugo stopped in his bowling stride long enough to flick his wand at a cabinet in the wall.

"It's really a glorified spyglass at best," he admitted, "but it should do."

Rose _accio_'ed the instrument over into her hand and open the window. Luckily it wasn't a windy night, so the draft was not significant. Rose wasn't exactly a fan of Astronomy class, but she found the stars fascinating this night. The section of the castle where Hugo had made his den was facing the lake, and from where the window looked out, Rose could see not just the sky above, but also the reflection of it on the calm surface of the lake. It had only thawed a couple of weeks ago, Rose reflected. The whole of December had been beautiful for skating. She, Albus and Martin had often waltzed around it, with Elk practising playing ice hockey with a few other enthusiasts in another corner of the lake.

The tableaux persisted for a while. Martin continued to read while Albus and Hugo proceeded to play out nearly a complete five-test series. Finally at nearly a half-hour past midnight, Martin laid down his quill and leaned back. Instantly the other three stopped and turned to face him, questions writ large in their eyes.

"Well, there's a lot of stuff here," said Martin, getting up and stretching his arms. "I'm really not helped by the fact that the Sanskrit is a language with more adjectives than any other I've ever encountered, and this damn author seems determined to use each and every one."

"So they're all by one author then?" asked Albus.

"Oh, they may or may not be. They're all attributed to one chap called Yuyutsu, but it may be a bunch of different people for all I know."

"Never mind who wrote it," said Rose impatiently. "It could be Stephanie ruddy Mayer for all I care. Did you find anything useful?"

"I may have," replied Martin. "If you'll give me a chance to begin." He began to pace around the room a little gingerly at first, his legs obviously a little cramped from the long time spent sitting. "It's a series of stories told by this chap, supposedly heard by him from various people he met during his travels all around India. There's a bit about the creation myth – it's a pantheonic religion, so there's a lot about various Gods and Goddesses. There's a ruling triumvirate – Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh. Below them are the gods. The King of these gods is a guy called Indra – think Zeus with the thunderbolts et al. There are various minor gods under him, Varuna of the Sea, Agni of Fire, Yama of Death, Vayu of the Wind and so on and so forth. It was Brahma who created the world and everything in it, including humans, animals, plants, demi-gods, demons and all other magical creatures. Humans – we – exist on a certain plane of existence and cannot normally ascend or descend to any other except through some special 'places of power', whatever those are.

"However, the power to summon creatures from a lower plane has always been entrusted to us. A trained wizard or witch can, using the right spell, bring to this world many creatures. The highest of such creatures are the _Asuras_, a humanoid clan of demons possessing immense strength, magical and physical. They look not dissimilar to humans, though some choose to disfigure themselves in many ways to distinguish themselves from us. There are _Asuras _who can wield fire, water, cold and such and often adapt their appearance in alignment with their powers. For the most part, though, these rely on brute physical strength and wizards have been known to summon entire armies of Asuras to achieve their own ends. In particular – well, I won't delve into the details, but there have been at least three recorded instances of _Asuras_ being summoned to fight large-scale wars across the Asian continent."

"So it's possible that the Routers could…" the question was left unasked by Rose.

"Well, we don't know how much they know. Certainly the creatures from the lower plans of existence are not very difficult to summon, if this text is anything to go by. It talks of one war – the Battle for Uttarakhand – where the Emperor Hadji Diom summoned an army of half-a-million Asuras and twenty thousand assorted animals to lay siege to the capital of King Puru."

"And won, I suppose?" asked Albus.

"No. King Puru was, at the time, married to an Apsara named Urvashi who it seems was insanely powerful. Despite being outnumbered by almost fifty-to-one, the siege was broken and the Emperor had to sue for peace."

"Sounds like a dangerous woman to cross," said Hugo. "So I'm assuming Apsaras are from a different 'plane' as well?"

"Yes, a higher plane than us, in fact. They dwell with the Gods, and that's why Apsaras could not be summoned until the time of this King Puru. There's an interesting story about how that came about. As a prince, the young Puru often had the opportunity to visit the court of Indra, King of Gods, as his father was one of the trusted allies of the divine powers. He was fascinated by the heavenly courts and their prized adornments, the Apsaras. When he assumed the throne himself, he too often fought by the side of the Gods in their perpetual battle against the evil demons of the netherworld. It was during a feast after one such battle that the Apsara Urvashi first noticed the young man and was smitten by his looks. She stole away with his men, disguised as one of them, and managed to enter his palace, which she found fascinating, particularly the gardens, where she fell in love with the growing grass, the frolicking animals and singing birds."

"Stop getting poetic," admonished Hugo.

"Oh, yes, I was rather quoting there," agreed Martin. "Anyway, to cut a long story short, she fell asleep in the garden, where Puru found her the following day. They fell in love, blah blah, lots of sex, some wars, stories of her ritual infidelity and finally Indra, getting rather pissed off by the fact that his favourite Apsara was enjoying life on earth rather too much, kills the King so that he can have his favourite Apsara back in his abode. She returns but is so distraught with grief that she cannot dance and, if my vocabulary is not completely off, she is no longer able to enjoy sexual relations with anyone, which leads her into a slow decline. Finally, Indra relents and offers to bring her lover back to life if he promises never to summon her again. She agrees and they go to the God of Death to negotiate the resurrection of the earthly King. Finally a deal is struck with Yama, the death-god and her King comes back to life. Indra allows Urvashi one final rendezvous with her lover before he must make a vow to renounce her forever. She gives him a parting gift – a tiny statue of herself. And here's where she tries to play a trick. She imbues a magic in the statue such that by placing the statue in the grove and chanting a summoning spell, which is essentially a song they used to sing together, her lover will be able to recall her for one night, once more before he dies. But she doesn't get the time to tell him what the statue can do, because Indra, realising what she has done, takes her away before the appointed time for parting. The King dies, never seeing his Apsara again and the statue passes down through the ages, until a descendant of the king moves the statue out from the palace in the garden. This chap has a young daughter who, while tending the garden, happens to sing that same song. The spell takes effect, the Apsara is summoned, and with her – who but old Indra himself, livid with her for allowing herself to be thus summoned again.

"Now here's the twist. Indra now sees this young princess, and like all pantheonic Gods, being inclined to think with his nether regions, immediately falls in love with her and moves in to seduce her. The girl is frightened and calls for her father, who falls upon the King of Gods with a sword. Indra moves to kill the father, but the Princess threatens to kill herself if he does. The Apsara, sensing her chance, offers to intercede on Indra's behalf with the girl's father. She will stay on Earth with the girl's father for as long as the daughter stays with Indra in heaven as a hostage against the girl's safe return. Apparently, having sex with a God was not a bad thing – what her father was angry about was the possibility of her being spirited away and preventing him from marrying her off into a powerful neighbouring royal family. Indra agrees, and here Urvashi makes her bargain with her master final – he will allow her to be summoned to the Earth by whoever places the statue in the grove and sings the song. Indra adds a caveat – that she must return when the person who has thus summoned her dies or when he or she sings the 'song of parting', again placing her statue in the grove.

"As the years passed, some of the other Apsaras also struck similar bargains, their taste for earthly pleasures increasing with each visit. It wasn't long before the magical communities began to refine the summoning spells and charms to bring it to the more scientific form that is being used today. Each summoning requires a spell to be incanted, but the more powerful the being you wish to summon, the more parameters enter the equation."

Martin sat back in the chair, exhausted, and conjured a glass of water for himself.

"So…magical statues, eh? I suppose Hubstein found enough of those in his studies of eastern magic," said Rose, "and learned the spells as well."

Martin nodded. "I would not be surprised. I'm wondering how he managed to reconstruct the garden, though."

"There's probably an easier way that actually growing a garden, I'm sure," said Albus.

"Oh well, I guess that tells us something, though I'm not sure how useful it is," said Rose. "Anything else in there?"

"Well, a number of stories about the Apsaras. Your friend Cherry, or Chitralekha appears to be a particularly dangerous one – she appears in many stories as a clever manipulator, usually functioning as an assassin. The Fire Apsara – Maitreyi, the favourite of the Sun God, if you're interested in knowing her name – is the most commonly summoned one, used as a brute battering ram of force. There are some Apsaras who chose not to be summoned at all, including Jananidhara the life-giver and Mrityunjayi, mistress of death."

"So how many can be summoned, then?"

"Apart from Chitralekha and Maitreyi, there is Ragini the mistress of weapons, Saudamini the weather-witch, Ayushi the healer and the one who started it all, Urvashi. Most of the lesser Apsaras can be summoned as well, their powers usually being a subset of the prime Apsaras"

"I wonder how many the Routers have succeeded in summoning."

Martin passed a hand over his brow.

"We only know of one so far, and it's Chitralekha, one of the most powerful of the lot. Let's hope it's not more than that. I hope they haven't got Urvashi, though. Did you know about the connection between her and Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts!" the other three cried out together.

"Yes, Hogwarts. Interesting little story. Not in the book. Deduced it." He gave them a mysterious smile.

"What are you drivelling about, Martin?" asked Rose.

"Not drivelling. Think, guys…I've told you everything you need to know."

"If you have, then we're Watsons to your Holmes," said Hugo matter-of-factly.

"Can't you tie it in with _Hogwarts, a History_?"

"Martin," said Rose, speaking slowly, "if you are under the impression that any of us has read that book…"

"Ah yes, of course," said Martin, jumping to his feet, "you wouldn't have. Not your mother, are you? -" he ignored the glare she gave him - "Well, then, let me give you the précis version. The four founders of Hogwarts all hail from different parts of the British islands. They came together when they united against the tyrant Emperor Brusillian who conquered all of Wizarding Europe and launched an assault on England in the eleventh century. Brusillian's charge was led by his consort Ursula, the most devastating battle-mage of all time. She wielded a mysterious wooden staff rather than a wand, and could wipe out entire armies single-handedly. Beautiful, proud and utterly devastating, Ursula led Brusillian's navy to the coasts of Dover from where they invaded the country, destroying all that they saw right up to the borders of Caledonia – or Scotland, as we now know it. It was here that Godric Gryffindor, Salarzar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff, the four mightiest wizards in England made their last stand, from a strategically located forest

"The few remaining British Wizards gathered to their refuge, an ancient castle on the borders of the forest. The final battle was fought over a lake and Ursula was finally defeated when the foursome challenged her to fight them without her army behind her. She successfully fought and defeated Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw in single combat, and had almost defeated Gryffindor when Slytherin, as had been planned previously, cut through the personal guard of Emperor Brusillian himself and assassinated him. The moment co-incided with Gryffindor firing the killing curse at Ursula which seemed to hit, though her body was never recovered. Naturally, the site of the great victory was where the Founders chose to build Hogwarts, their legacy to posterity."

He gave them a half-smile, as if daring them to say what was so blindingly obvious to him.

"So this Ursula…?"

"I would be very surprised if it was otherwise," he said simply. "The body was never recovered because she was not, in fact defeated, but rather the death of her master sent her back to wherever she had come from. She was Urvashi – guilty as charged."

"Well, what I'd like to know is," said Albus. "What do we do next?"

"Tell your father what we're up against," said Rose. "He's the one who would then be able to plan a response."

"Oh yes, of course. That's right. Tell him WHAT? And HOW?"

"It's not as easy as just dropping an owl to Uncle Harry." said Hugo, "For one thing, we definitely do not want him to know that we are…aware of what's going on."

Rose sighed. For people who, as kids, invariably poked their noses into the business of their elders, Uncle Harry and his friends were certainly very conservative when it came to their own children. Rose and Hugo had never quite been told by their own parents the events of last war, apart from some vague explanations about why the wizarding world regarded them with such awe. It wasn't until coming to Hogwarts that they had quite realised how famous their parents were, or how young they had been when they had done the deeds that made them famous. It had been the same with James and Albus, she knew, the brothers barely knowing of the deeds of their parents or the people they were named after until fairly recently. Rose wondered how much Lily knew, or had bothered to find out, about the family of which she was the most attractive and least intelligent part.

"No, we don't," agreed Albus. "Father would throw several fits, and mother would have us get home-schooled if she found out we were involved in this stuff."

"I guess it falls to me, then," sighed Martin.

"Yes," Hugo concurred. "It will."

"What?" asked Rose and Albus together.

"Mrs. Scamander is the one person who probably has a practical view of the world," replied Hugo, "ironic as that might sound. Where our parents would go ballistic about our safety and how we acquired the information, I'm suspecting she would, with perhaps an odd reference to snorcacks and nargles, go to Uncle Harry or Mom, tell what she had learned and refuse to divulge the source. Is that correct?"

"Who is Mrs. Scamander?" asked Rose, curious to know about this new person.

Hugo, Albus and Martin gave loud sighs.

"Rose, you attended the wedding!" said Martin at last. "Don't you remember getting drunk and dancing the tango with Yuki Uribe from your house? It was during last year's Christmas hols!"

"I have no…"

"Why do you think half the school is convinced your bisexual?" asked Albus, looking genuinely surprised, "At least twenty of us saw you dance most suggestively indeed with her!"

"I…erm," Rose coloured as the recollections flooded across her brain. "Well, that's not important anyway. What's important is that I now remember that Martin's mother married Rolf Scamander the naturalist. Anyway, I agree with Hugo, that's our best bet."

Martin got to his feet.

"I'll owl mother first thing tomorrow morning and tell her I've seen a spotted camel or something. That should bring her down by tomorrow evening. We can all meet her then. For now, I think it's best we get to bed."

Albus yawned.

"I second that. Who's guarding Rose today?"

"I refuse to be guarded! There's nothing to be concern…"

She didn't get to complete the sentence, as her cousin Lily chose that moment to wander into the room and say, turning a vacant gaze upon her brother,

"I thought I might find you here."

"Lily! What on earth are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you. I went up to Rose's dorm but she wasn't sleeping there. So then I went into Albus's dorm but he wasn't there either, only that strange boy Ruthven, who tried to persuade me that Albus was in bed with him and I could find him by getting under the sheets with him."

"Ruthven's a dead man," said Albus, matter-of-factly.

"I'll have a chat with him," said Hugo. "But WHY were you looking for us, sister dearest?"

"Oh. I had something to tell you."

"What might that be? We don't have all night." said Rose testily.

"What I'd like to know is how she got in here," said Hugo. "Martin, I thought you said you'd put protective spells on this place against anyone entering without my permission."

"It's a blood ward," replied Martin, "and she's half a Weasley."

"Well, someone put her back in bed before she enters another boy's wet dreams," said Rose.

They trooped out of the room and entered the corridor. Hugo locked the door behind him with a tap of his wand.

It wasn't until they were at the place where Martin had to separate from them to go to the Ravenclaw common room that Albus remembered to ask,

"What was it you'd come to tell us anyway, Lily?"

"Oh yes. I remember. James and Scorpius are duelling out on the grounds, near the lake. I think they've been at it nearly half-an-hour by now."

"What!" Rose's alarmed expression was apparent to her cousins even in the darkness.

"Oh yes, and Scorpius looked badly hurt when Estelle told me to run and get you. He was lying on his back and just...what's the word...twitching."

"Don't let anyone tell you apparition isn't possible inside Hogwarts," said Hugo to a Albus and Martin as they watched Rose bolt in the direction of the main door of the castle, "When a girl can move that fast, it becomes irrelevant. Shall we follow, gentlemen? And you too, of course, my fair cousin. Onward, march!"

**A/N:** Long delays, I know. Now if only I got paid for doing this, I'd only miss deadlines by a week instead of three months.


	11. Flames

**_Standard Disclaimer - _**_If I owned the HP Universe, I'd be a much better writer than I am, and wouldn't need to work a job. Anything you recognise is J K Rowling's._

**Chapter 11**

**Flames**

Scorpius Malfoy picked himself up off the ground. His bones hurt from the fall. His head ached. His knees were bruised. He wasn't exactly sure whether the rest of him was in working condition, but at least he could not detect anything _actively _wrong with those body parts. He'd have been lying if he'd said he felt fine, but on the other hand, he could have been much worse. After all, he'd lasted five rounds of three minutes each against James Potter, and that was more than anyone else in Hogwarts could say.

In fact, it had started well enough. Thanks to Estelle's presumably well-intentioned pessimism, he had arrived at the appointed place behind the lake rather well aware of the outstanding track record that his opponent possessed.

"Oh, James will have you for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He started in the Duelling club in his second year and by the end of it was already known to have a rock-solid defense. By his third year no one wanted to go up against him, not even seasoned seventh-years and he was crowned the school champion at the end of term. Sensational is the only word," she had gushed as they had made their way through a quiet corridor from the Slytherin dorm to the greenhouses. Estelle had suggested one of the secret passages that led from their common room directly to the grounds, but Scorpius had pointed out that it was too narrow a passage to carry both of them and his broom.

"Right, I got that the last three times you said it," grumbled Scorpius.

"He's got an impenetrable defence, you know. Nothing can get past his shield spells. He wears you down for a few rounds and then – BAM! You're hit by a _Reducto_ or a stinging hex before you know what's what."

"You're such a comfort."

"Just doing my duty," she replied in a modest tone. "No one's ever lasted more than five rounds against him, at least not since he became the champ. His unbeaten streak goes back three years…"

"Is that someone swimming in the ruddy lake?" asked Scorpius, more to change the subject than anything else. He had noticed a movement in the still reflection of the stars and surmised that it may be caused by a moving object.

"Hmm, you may be right. Must be off their rocker, whoever it is. It's dreadfully cold! I wouldn't want to get a toe in, let alone swim."

"Might be one of the mer-people," Scorpius pointed out. "Perhaps they come close to the surface at nights when they're less likely to be seen."

"I suppose you're right. Ah – here we are. Hullo, Elk. How nice to see you!"

James was accompanied by Trellawny, his second, a pale, reedy boy from his year. Elk Moose was holding up an ancient gold watch.

"I'll be the referee, if that's all right with you folks," he said. "Let's have a fair duel, shall we, or else I'll have to put a stunning curse on the both of you. The seconds will appeal to me if they feel anything is going amiss."

"I'm fine with that," said Scorpius, who was aware of Elk Moose's reputation for being a fair man who wouldn't let his being a Gryffindor get in the way of his refereeing. James nodded as well.

"We'll have rounds of three minutes each with a half-minute between them. The first to lose grip of his wand or suffer injury resulting in an inability to continue will be the loser. No unforgivables, no attacking after I call 'time'. I wish we had someone with decent healing skills on hand. There's a couple of people in Ravenclaw who're good with their healing spells and poultices but the more houses know about the duel the more danger we are in of being found out."

"Send for my sister Lily, then," said James. "She's a terrific healer. I'll send a _Patronus_."

"Lily? Isn't she a bit…" Estelle left the question hanging, realising just in time that it would be rather unwise to use the expression "thick as a brick" in reference to the sister of the man who was about to duel her cousin and would probably massacre him anyway.

"She's a genius with healing spells, somehow," said James. "I know, not the brightest girl in the world, but has a gift for healing. Is _that _your broom, Malfoy? Where'd you find it – a Muggle joke shop?"

He cast his patronus, a beautiful horse and sent the message. Scorpius fingered his broom nervously. It was terribly weather-beaten, true, the broom he had picked up the previous evening when he had met Rose. But it had felt better than his own and that was important. He wondered if the Potter boy was show-boating. Scorpius could produce a patronus himself, so he wasn't intimidated or anything, but there was something about James' expression – cold determination instead of the hot-blooded anger that Scorpius generally had to face from him – that was unnerving.

"It's the best I have. Can we get on with things?"

Lily arrived eventually, still rubbing her sleepy eyes. James explained to her what was going on in a few terse easy-to-understand words and she seated herself on a bench with a beatific smile.

After that, the real business of the evening had begun. To his credit, Scorpius had started well. For the first two rounds he had hounded James with a barrage of spells. They didn't get through his famous defence, but James wasn't able to retaliate either. The third began the same way, but Scorpius felt himself tiring. At the half-way mark, as the time interval between his spells began to prolong, James came into his own, shooting a couple of hexes that Scorpius only just managed to block. Into the fourth round, Scorpius was barely holding on, in fact, only the amazing responsiveness of the weathered broomstick under him kept him in the air. His hand had taken a hit when a spell from James grazed it and that made his own spell-work rather wobbly for a while, but the break at the end of the fourth round came just in time.

Lily cast a quick healing spell that had Scorpius waving his hand about as good as new.

"Er, thanks, Miss. Potter," said Scorpius.

"All better now," said Lily with a bright smile.

"You're not doing half-badly," Estelle said, patting him on the back patronisingly.

"Partly skill, partly dumb luck," he confessed.

"Actually, you're out-flying him," said Estelle. "Keep it up a bit longer and he may tire enough for you to have a decent shot at him."

"I'm not entirely sure I can keep this up a bit longer," confessed Scorpius, just as Elk's voice rang out, "Time!"

The fifth round started well for Scorpius. He circled upwards into the air, instead of straight up and managed to catch James off-guard for long enough to land an _Expelliarmus_ before the Potter boy had his shield up. The wand detached itself from James' hand and flew up in the air towards Scorpius, but James, though taken off-guard, had not earned his reputation for nothing. Before Scorpius realised quite what his opponent was doing, James had accelerated towards Scorpius and caught his wand just inches from the Slytherin boy, who had to dive to his left to escape collision. No sooner had James recovered his balance than he had fired off a spell at Scorpius, who, still in evasive mode, could not avoid being hit. The spell was a stunning spell and Scorpius felt the stiffness take over his joints as he hurtled to what he was sure would be a defeat.

As it was, the broom, apparently having a fairly indepedent bent of mind, not only did not crash to the earth without his control, but stayed afloat and took him circuitously around James, keeping him out of harm's way even as his opponent fired hex after hex at him.

On the ground, Estelle clenched her fists as she saw her cousin get hit by the stunner, and could only have a sigh of relief when she realised that he was not heading earthwards, as he ought to have been.

"Elk! You've got to stop the fight!" she said, running up to the boy.

"I don't see any reason why," came the stubbon reply. "It's an evenly matched duel so far."

"It's gone on long enough. Call it a draw."

"Don't be ridiculous, Estelle! Wizards don't call off matches because they go on too long. In the year 1846 a duel between Peter Poliski and Maynard McTaggert lasted two days straight."

Stamping her foot in frustration, Estelle turned, to find herself looking into the face of Lily, who was watching the proceedings with open-mouthed fascination.

"Kid!"

"Yes?" came the response.

"Can you get your brother to..." Estelle meant to say "stop", but her sentence was interrupted at that moment by the sight of Scorpius being hit square on the chest by another stunning spell, and this time, her cousin crashed straight to the ground just as Elk called "Time!" again.

Both girls ran over to where Scorpius lay.

"Not a concussion, I hope," said Elk.

"He's hurt, Moose! You've got to call it off."

"Not if he recovers before the start of the next round," said Elk with exasperating calm, moving off to check on James, who had landed safely some ten meters away.

"Shall I try a reviving spell?" asked Lily solicitously.

"No! Look, Lily - can you go find Rose? Tell her about the duel. Go, fast!"

Lily nodded and took off, without asking any questions. Whether this was because she grasped the situation or just her general lack of curiosity, Estelle could not tell.

"Where's she going?" asked Scorpius, panting, as he slowly regained control of his faculties.

"Couldn't stand the stress," said Estelle.

Scorpius struggled to his feet and looked around. The Potter girl had disappeared out of sight. Elk was marking time on his watch while James and his second were jabbering to each other. His wand was in one piece, which was good news. His wand arm, not so much.

Still, he struggled onto his broom and took off again, just as their referee called the start of the sixth round. Scorpius did not try any spells, but stuck to evasive action, keeping safely out of harm's way. His arm did not feel up to any serious defensive spellwork, and against James Potter, defensive spellwork was what kept a chap afloat. Thankfully, the skills he had picked up playing Quidditch stood him in good stead as he weaved around, his concentration purely on not being hit by James.

As it often turns out, though, evasive action was only effective for a while. Trajectories and flight patterns become predictable, and James was able to fire his spells in anticipation of Scorpius' movements. After his fourth time barely escaping a fireball, Scorpius had no choice but to careen backwards and fire a spell of his own. To his own surprise, it was _Wingardium Leviosa_. Since it was also probably the last thing James had expected, the spell met with no resistance - there really isn't a counter-curse for a levitation spell, after all.

James teetered for several seconds in the air while Scorpius, taking advantage of his opponent's discomfiture, fired a stunning spell at him. It hit him squarely in the chest, knocking him off his broomstick and Scorpius felt a sense of exultation as his opponent hurtled downwards.

"Time!" called Elk as Trellawney expertly caught James with a cushioning spell before he hit the ground.

Scorpius descended quickly, and ran up to Elk, Estelle close on his heels.

"That's a win!" said Estelle, before Scorpius could.

"I called the end of the round," said Elk calmly. "If he recovers before the start of the next, the duel is on."

"That's..."

"Pretty fair, actually," admitted Scorpius, knowing he had only survived to fight this round because of time being called in the fifth.

A few feet away, James sat on the turf, shaking his head. As always, Scorpius noted with disgust, the boy's ability to recover from curses was phenomenal.

"Just keep hitting him with what he doesn't expect," Estelle whispered urgently in his ear, dragging him away.

"How many times do you think I can pull off a stunt like that?" Scorpius muttered.

"Hopefully, you won't have to," his cousin replied. Surprised, Scorpius followed her gaze to where a slender figure was running from the castle up towards them.

It did not take the eyes of love to identify this figure to be Rose Weasley. By the time she was within twenty paces, even the fact that it was past midnight could not hide the arched eyebrows and muddy brown hair that was her hallmark.

"Rose! What the hell are you doing here?" James voice rang out.

"Thank Merlin you're here," said Estelle. "You need to stop this before someone gets hurt."

"Look, nobody's getting hurt..." began Scorpius in a half-apologetic tone. He was cut off when Rose pushed him aside with what he would admit later was a surprisingly strong shove.

"_Confringo!_" Rose's voice echoed through the night as she blasted the spell at her cousin. Scorpius, who was standing closest to her, felt the heat generated by the spell as it erupted from her wand and unerringly caught it's hapless target. The explosive spell caught James squarely in the chest, and threw him a few feet backwards, while engulfing him in a ball of flame.

"What the HELL, Weasley!" shouted Trellawney, rushing to his friend's side. Everyone present heaved a sigh of releif as James tottered back onto his feet, a few singed strands of hair being the only parts of him noticeably affected by the incident.

"Yes?" said Rose, with exaggerated politeness.

"You could've killed him!" said Trellawney, though he looked visibly relieved.

"If I had it in me to cast spells that powerful, my dear Trellawney," Rose continued in the same tone, "I most certainly would have attempted the task. Given that I do not, this was really little more than a cousinly fracas."

"If you're having cousinly fracases," came the voice of Hugo Weasley as he trotted up to the group, followed closely by Albus, Martin and Lily, "you can't leave the rest of us out, can you? How'd 'ee do, James? Looking peaky. Elk, my boy, you get bigger and stronger with each passing day. Trellawney! You festering old eyesore, you! Don't you owe me five galleons?"

The persons he had addressed looked at him in the state of helpless puzzlement that he so liked to inflict on people he interacted with. Hugo allowed himself a self-satisfied smile.

Scorpius took advantage of the fact that nobody actually had their eyes on him to grab Rose by the arm and lead her a few feet away. She didn't resist.

"Look, it's not what it looks like," he began, "James challenged me to a duel. It's all fair and -"

"And you just had to accept, didn't you?" she interjected.

"If I hadn't, I'd be branded a coward throughout Hogwarts, wouldn't I?" Scorpius said, his tone a touch defiant.

"So WHAT, Malfoy?" exclaimed Rose in a louder tone. Scorpius glanced around to see if anybody had noticed, but they had walked some distance away by now and Hugo appeared to be holding the group enthralled with something or the other. (He was, in reality, enumerating how exactly Trellawney had run up the massive debt of five galleons. As this inolved the fascinating story of how Trellawney had gotten involved with a muggle cocktail waitress, it is easily understandable that his audience did not notice Rose and Scorpius.)

"I don't know how your mind works, Rose, but I was not going to back down..."

"Gladiatorial combat more your style, eh? What did you see this as? You and James duelling over my honour? Some sort of medieval joust?"

"Nothing of that sort, really. I was only defending what's left of my honour," said Scorpius, a little sullenly.

Rose cast a disgusted look at him and turned back towards the rest of the group.

"Rose?" Scorpius' voice behind her was barely a whisper, but she stopped. Maybe it was something she had wanted to hear.

"I won't pretend to be any better than I am, Rose," said Scorpius in a calm, measured undertone. "But I won't take the blame for being something I am not, either. Your cousin there challenged me to a duel for no good reason that I can think of. He seems to be under the impression that I am some sort of pasteboard villain bent on sullying your lily-white honour – and by extension, I suppose, his. At this point it's less about you than just a desire to shut him up. If he beats me – and he probably will – at least that will be the end of it and you can join the rest of your cousins in crowing over the loser Malfoy boy.'

"Look, I never…" began Rose in a softer tone.

"No, hear me out. I may be a Malfoy, but that name hasn't meant anything to me beyond a crackpot grandfather who can't stop going on about how the name once carried a lot of weight in wizarding circles. I'd like to tell him it still does – it's mud. It means that I can't even attempt to be a friend to a girl I like – and admire – very much for no fault of my own."

"Scorpius…" Rose began, a blush beginning to colour her cheeks.

"I won't be bothering you again, Rose, so – please, don't interrupt. You've been-" he hesitated "- good to me at a time when no one else was willing to look at me as anything other than what my last name says about me. I felt you were something special from the time we first met on the train coming to Hogwarts, four years ago. You stood up for me, though you had no reason to. You spoke to me when no one else did. I don't think you ever thought of me as a friend, exactly, but it meant the world to me that you were willing to take me for what I am, rather than what my father or grandfathers were before me."

He paused. Rose's eyes were fixed on him but she did not speak. He could see Hugo behind her, now expostulating with expansive hand gestures on how Trellawney had been dragged away by bouncers.

"I won't pretend that gratitude or friendship is all that I feel for you, because that would be a lie," he resumed. "I have feelings for you that I can't define, really. I don't know if it's love – I know we're both too young to even be thinking in that direction – but I know I can't help but wish we could be more than friends. You are beautiful to me, Rose. Your hair when it tousles with the breeze, your eyes when they shine with joy or even anger, your hands when you clench them into balls and rest your head on them. Everything about you is magical, Rose, far more than anything this wand can produce. And that's why I think it's best if I just – stay away from you for what left of our school life. If it causes this much strife to you and yours, it may be better just to, just forget that I ever knew someone as perfect as you."

The boy's fists were clenched, the effort of speaking seemed to have taken a toll on him, though he would have confessed, if pressed, that he was really trying to hold back tears. Finished, he relaxed, letting out an inaudible sigh before turning to return to the castle. Hugo had also finished his story by now and had begun shepherding his little flock towards the castle as well.

"I say, rather nice speech. What does he do for an encore?"

The voice, clear as a bell, cut across the now-still night. With a start, the ten children turned to look towards the speaker. Only Rose, however, recognised her, and her heart sank within her.

"Cherry!" she exclaimed in a despairing voice.

"Not alone, this time," smiled the woman. "Have you met my rather fiery friend Maitreyi? She does a mean party trick with those hands. We were out for a nightly swim and guess what we found on the other side of the lake – your school! Now wasn't that lucky?"

Rose exchanged a nervous glance with Albus and Martin as another woman stepped forth from behind Cherry. She was a little taller than Cherry and had a mane of thick red hair. Her eyes seemed to glow a deep yellow even in the dark. Cherry, who wore a black one-piece swimsuit, was nonchalantly surveying the castle and the surrounding grounds. The other woman was dressed in a dull grey cowl and overcoat. Surprisingly, she didn't seem to be even slightly wet. And yet, the lake must have been the way they came. Scorpius and Estelle recalled seeing the nightly swimmers as he had walked towards the site of the duel, but could not really associate the beautiful dark-haired woman opposite him with anything he could recall. Albus, Hugo and Martin recognised from Rose's description exactly who stood before them by now, and Martin's mention of the name Maitreyi was still fresh in their memory. James and Trellawney, who knew the least, were caught between apprehension and arousal. Cherry's swimsuit left little about her perfect shape to the imagination. Lily was wondering if she should dye her hair red over the vacation.

"Well, Em. It' s your show. The instructions are to burn down the castle."

The red-haired woman gave a grim smile before saying, "Why don't I try a little preview before the main show, Cherry?"

"Now that's quite unnecessary, Em," said Cherry, and Rose thought she detected a trace of apprehension in her voice.

"Oh shut up, Chitra," said the woman. "It's showtime." In a moment, she whipped off the grey overcoat to reveal a bright orange robe. Before the horrified eyes of the children, she held out her right hand towards them, a finger pointed right at Rose. Her eyes seemed to glow for an instant and then a steady stream of fire emerged from her hand and darted towards Rose, engulfing her in a sheet of flame.

_[A/N: Too long a delay between Chapters and in the end, it looks a bit hurried, I know, but otherwise it may never have gotten done. Thanks to all who have reviewed.]_


End file.
